


Only Sore Losers Say No

by emmadune



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: 70k words into the story type of eventual, Alternate Universe, Because we're on quarantine sis, Blind Date, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Frequent updates, Like really eventual, M/M, Nothing Else to Do, POV Alternating, Self-Indulgent, Theres literally no pain here, and then, because i cant make up my mind, because my life is full of crap rn, i wrote good stuff only, suddenly theres sex all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 154,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24424999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadune/pseuds/emmadune
Summary: When Liz harassed Armie into a blind date with someone who couldn't be more different to him and nearly a decade younger, he looked for every out he could find. It may have taken a whole ganging up from his brother to his driver to get him to the restaurant, but it's just about to be the best thing that ever happened in his life because Timothée? Well, Armie might just be a little in love already, just saying.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 202
Kudos: 341





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First thing, you might notice that the characters and elements of Call Me By Your Name are used in this fic, and that's because I originally intended this to be Oliver/Elio set in movie-verse. As it happens, I don't know what Oliver's last name is and it bothered me so much to the point that the only way I could get over it is to change the entire story to Armie/Timmy. 
> 
> I'm also just gonna say it right about now that I literally have no idea about the United States because I've never been and didn't really think of ever going so what you're about to read would be the most ambiguous directions and places that may or may not be similar to how I describe shit in real life anyway. And no Google translate in this house, so I'm gonna write that they're talking in this language and girls and boys just gotta imagine because while I am Eurasian, it is sadly not French and I never retained more than reading French and the greetings when I took it in school. 
> 
> This is a self-indulgent fic, where the plot is not that deep and no more than the usual bumps on the road during dating. I have way too many papers I need to submit but I can't seem to write, so I decided to do a fic to pick up momentum.

Had it not been for their long history which includes a whopping two years of on-off dating before amicably settling back to a much agreeable friendship, Armie swears he would have cut Liz off his life after college. The woman is practically the sister he never asked for. She’s happy to be of help and even happier to annoy him, but it’s a different type of delight for her when she plays matchmaker. It’s not something that happens too often, so thank God for small favors, but deep down Armie feels a little weird when she does it. It’s not that there’s any romantic feelings left between them, it’s just how  _ accurate _ she is in terms of setting him up that leaves a strange sensation in his gut. It’s often a guy or a girl too different from her, and it makes him feel guilty for dating her for two years only to come out as bi  _ and _ have a totally opposite type. 

As far as exes turned best friends go, they pretty much get along well, so much it’s like family. Now, this is the bit that Armie doesn’t understand. He is by no means having trouble landing himself a date or two. In fact, he’s out and about all  _ too _ often. Nothing permanent, mostly going only as far as third dates or fourth and then it dissolves. Or at least for him. And Liz knows all of that. One too many times she’s even picked him up from strange places or pretended to be his girlfriend or an arranged fiancée of some sort. So it  _ is _ a total source of wonder why all of a sudden Liz would saunter into his office and dangling a blind date offer to his face after laying off his love life for a while. 

Armie leans back on his office chair, the back giving way and bending. “This is unnecessary, Liz. And besides-” 

“Oh hush, Armie, you haven’t even met him.” Liz interrupts, her eyes twinkling far too gleefully. “I’ve known him a while, you know. Brilliant kid, oh my God, he’s from Juilliard - what an absolute delight.” 

“Juilliard?” Armie parrots back. He’s not sure how he feels about this piece of information. “What does he do?” 

“Arts and music, you know, all things sophisticated.”  _ Pretentious _ , Armie’s brain supplied. He didn’t dare say it out loud though and allowed Liz to keep on rambling. “I actually met him at a charity dinner. He played the harp. Now  _ that  _ was a musical experience.” 

“I’m sorry but can we go back to the part where you tell me why you think I’d be interested in this kid? What’s even his name, Jesus Liz, only you could talk about a person for twenty minutes and not even mention their name.” At this point Armie is just dragging out the conversation so he could bring up more points as to why he’ll be better off  _ not _ going to this date. 

Liz pauses, her face whipping towards him with a tight-lipped smile. There’s a certain excitement in her eyes that Armie only sees when she knows for a fact that she’s got him. “Timothée Chalamet,” she makes an effort to pronounce it as it should be said, hardening her  _ T _ and rolling her  _ L _ . 

Grimacing, Armie asks “French? Is he even from around here?” 

“Why don’t you go tomorrow night and ask him, yeah?” Liz shots back, not missing a beat. “That’s already a first date question, you know.” 

“Have you heard yourself for the past-” Armie makes a show of looking at his wristwatch. “Three hours of talking about this  _ Timothée _ ? We’re  _ nothing _ alike.” 

Liz walks over his desk, ignoring his exaggeration and leaning down to press her palms flat on the folders. “Armand, look at me.” She snaps her fingers twice at their eye-level. Once their eyes are connected, she continues “Do you think I’d set you up with a person I literally fawn over and get on his bad side?” 

“I don’t follow.” 

“It means I’ve known I wanted you two to at least meet the first time I’ve seen him, but I can’t risk you running loose.” She stared him down when Armie opened his mouth to speak. He spent a second glaring before closing his mouth. “And then I actually got to spend time with him, and I  _ knew _ he’d be perfect for you. You’ll know what I mean when you meet him, so just tell your staff you’re off tomorrow by five because you have a date by seven.” 

“Liz, I have  _ no _ doubt in my mind that this Timothée is as amazing as you said, but what part of my lifestyle-” Armie waves his hand in a circle, as if it encompasses all his hedonistic tendencies instead of being a vague gesture. “Makes you think that I’ll be good for  _ him _ ?” 

Liz’s reply came instantaneously. “Because I know you. Not just your lifestyle, or your type. I know  _ you _ , Armie. And this whole-” She imitates his circular hand gesture to refer to the unspoken problem. “I know it’s gotten old. It’s just a habit you’re not breaking because you don’t have a better thing to do.” 

“And if this doesn’t break the chain?” 

“You think he’ll be naive?” Liz is smirking to herself again. “Two can play the game. Go to the place I wrote down on your memo pad, Armie, or I’ll send your college clips to your dad.” 

Armie startles in his chair. “Hey!” 

“Do as I say.” Liz already has her handbag slung over her shoulder. She walks to fetch her coat before turning around one last time. “What’s his name again?” 

Armie rolls his eyes, giving up because obviously his ex-girlfriend turned best friend is a witch. “Timothée Chalamet.” He absolutely butchers the French name. 

“Perfect.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, Armie gears up for every opportunity at work that would get him out of Liz’s blind date. Maybe it’ll come as a meeting that went on for too long, or an unexpected dinner with an important client. He’s even hit up Viktor to bait him into inviting him over for dinner, which was a rookie mistake on his part. Of course Liz got her brother covered. Viktor flipped him off without sympathy, laughing over the phone that he should just go along with Liz’s set up and ride it out. 

As it happens, fate totally favors Liz over him, his work hours went by unceremoniously. He reviewed a handful of contracts and browsed through a few proposals, which didn’t even take up more than half of his time in the office. When it was already twenty minutes past five and his assistant had already checked on him _twice_ , Armie finally stood up from his desk, finally caught on to the fact that Liz probably told his assistant that he should be out of the office already. 

Opening their line, Armie waits for Jenny to acknowledge him before speaking. 

“Mr. Hammer?” Jenny asks. 

“Hey Jenny, I’d get off now. No more business stuff; this circus is closing early today.” 

“Of course, Mr. Hammer.” Her tone was even, but they’ve worked together long enough for him to tell that she’s smiling through their line. 

It’s always a source of amusement in his company whenever Liz comes by and beats Armie’s ass up, one way or another. So he just pretends not to notice and allows her to have this moment. 

“Mr. Hammer?” Jenny calls after him just as he's about to walk out away from their floor. He stops and turns on his heels, waiting for her to speak. “Ms. Chambers said your date is wearing a magenta suit; said you can’t miss him when he walks in the restaurant.” 

Armie huffs a short chuckle, mentally formulating a plan to get back at Liz for slipping this particular bit of information to his staff instead of texting him. “She said magenta suit?” 

Jenny’s nostrils are flaring from stopping herself from laughing. “Yes sir, magenta all over.” 

Armie held her gaze for a moment, daring her to burst out laughing. She probably thinks Liz set him up with a drag queen or a member of Cirque du Soleil. It’s at this point that Armie is seriously considering bolting because this _Timothée_ is an arts and music type of guy. What if he’s one of those overly eccentric guys who’s vegan and talks to plants. Not that it’s bad, but if he’s going on a date, then he thinks his preferences should be considered. 

“You should be on your way now, sir. The restaurant is too far to walk, and it’s already rush hour.” Jenny reminds him, her fingers fiddling with her desk clutter. Armie recognizes this habit: she’s waiting for him to leave so she can phone Liz. 

Sighing, Armie pinches the bridge of his nose and nods. “You already called the driver?” 

“Expecting you out in front already, sir.”

Armie smiles, though he can feel his cheeks are tense so there’s no way it looks genuine. Jenny takes pity on him and goes back to pretending that she’s arranging her desk until they’re out of each other’s sight. Armie greets people along the way, stops to chat with the team whose presentation he sat through the day before, shakes hand with a senior employee in management who worked with Armie’s father and then himself, and finally enduring elevator ride with a few middle-aged stockholders who switch back and forth from trying to manipulate him and trying to get on his good graces. He offers them a perfunctory smile and a nod before stepping out into the lobby to meet his driver. 

“Let me guess, Liz already gave you an address.” Armie says, pressing himself on the backseat and relaxing. 

His driver smiled, but barely. Just a small upturn to the corner of his lips. “We’ll be in the restaurant twenty minutes before seven.” 

“Wow, what a way to look over-eager.” 

“Ms. Chambers said he’s European. Strictly on time.” 

Armie understands, he does. Not even the never ending chaos of New York has ever been a reason for him to be late. But Liz is unnecessarily overexerting on this date. Even the ones that came before this have never seen her getting _this_ involved in his life, going as far as contacting his staff to make sure he gets there as she wants. 

As if on cue, his phone rings. Liz. 

“You got my own staff ganging up on me.” Armie said right away, foregoing greetings. 

“You’re on your way?” Liz answers, too casual for someone who literally put a massive amount into controlling his love life for the past twenty four hours. 

“Yes, my God, I’ve never seen you arrange an occasion like this since you opened your bakery.” He replies, slightly getting worked up on all the doting. 

“Jenny told you he’s wearing a magenta suit?” Over the years, Liz has perfected the art of ignoring Armie’s hyperboles, which he uses a lot. 

“Yeah and what the fuck is that? Tell me it’s not real.” 

Liz laughs. “Of course it’s real! He had an event he needed to attend to, some gallery I think. It’s an exhibit of one of his close friends so he’s dressed up.” 

“But a magenta suit!” 

“Armie,” Liz starts, voice firm and ready to lecture him. “Just because your wardrobe goes from neutral to black and whites, does not mean the entire world should. You’ll be fine with a burst of color here and there.” 

That commentary on his fashion choices made Armie contemplate that perhaps he can live with the mortification of his father seeing his antics in college. 

“And besides, did you miss that solemn conversation we had yesterday? I seriously think he’s great okay?” Liz adds, softer now. “And if it doesn’t click, then do what you want. Honestly I’m not even worried about Timmy, clever boy that he is.” 

“Timmy?” It gets weird when your ex-girlfriend has a pet name for a guy you’re supposedly going on a blind date with. 

“Oh my God Armie, get it together. He doesn’t expect everyone to call him _Timothée_ okay? It’s a nickname.” 

“No, seriously Liz, how old is this guy?” Liz is silent for a moment too long, and Armie runs his palm from his forehead down his chin. “Elizabeth.” He warns. 

“Younger than you.” Liz barely tries to evade the question, but props for the effort. 

“Which is?” Armie pressed on. 

“He’s twenty-four.” 

It’s now that Armie feels like he finally can get out of this arrangement. “Liz, I’m turning thirty-four this year. It’s not a ‘younger than you’ situation. We have an entire _generation gap_.” 

“You’re already on your way.” Liz says, regrouping. “Just show up for this date okay? Just go. And if the moment you see him and you think ‘what a waste of my time’ tell him I harassed you and that you two should just grab a bite or you can bolt. Whatever you want, honestly. He’s already on his way, too.” 

“And I may quote you on that.” 

“Yes, yes you may. Now, freshen up, straighten your suit, ditch your tie, open your shirt a few buttons down. Take a nap, anything to pass time. Call me when you get home, like for real, call me.” 

By the time Armie has digested everything Liz said, she already hung up and he’s left to stare at the screen of his phone, the default light glare wallpaper shining to his face. 

Generally, Armie dates within his age group, which he defines to be either five years older or younger. It’s honestly trickier than it sounds, especially since many people his age go into dates hoping for something serious, looking to settle down or whatnot. At the same time, this very nuance also helps to sever ties easier. Once the other party realizes Armie is in nowhere on the same page that they are, the connection just cuts itself. Or at least it comes with age to know better than to hold on to something hopeless. As for Timothée, well… Armie wouldn’t swear that he’s a saint. He’d been dragged around by the dick by boys and girls who are in their early twenties, but only for a night, with fake names, and never to see each other again. College kids, basically, or fresh graduates still trying to navigate the real world. They’re just looking to scratch an itch. It’s not like any of them can afford dating and relationships. So Armie went, and he will go now. He’d meet Timothée, if he’s down then maybe they can spend the night, or they can just stop then and there to avoid wasting each other’s time. He’d call Liz so he can gloat about being correct, and very likely put her off of setting him up for another year or two. 

Deciding against Liz’s advice, Armie actually straightens his suit, buttons everything back up and tightens his tie. They’re too _different_ , and Armie wants to look like it. Something about being dressed for work automatically sets his brain for wanting to feel productive, so Armie fiddles with his phone to check emails or send some. There’s really not much to see, most things already taken care of during the day, and he’s already told Jenny to hold off business stuff for this date. At least he can be polite like that. 

It’s quite a surprise to Armie that the restaurant isn’t even half as fancy as he would expect, especially since Liz talks so highly of this arts and music boy. He thought he’d be uptight and lavish, maybe even an expensive French restaurant where Armie could make a total fool of himself from greeting to ordering. Instead, his driver dropped him off at a midrange-looking Italian place which, coming from his experience in New York, could mean that this is some authentic place to get pasta and pizza like they make it in Italy, probably run by a second or third generation of Italian family. He goes in, and is immediately attended to by a petite brunette who speaks with an accent. Armie supplies his name, the reservation is made by Elizabeth Chambers, he added, and she only smiles to acknowledge it. She gestures forward, and Armie takes the hint and follows her deeper into the restaurant. It’s spacious enough, especially for a family business on this side of New York, that the tables are actually far apart that you won’t be accidentally eavesdropping on other parties dining in. She showed him to a table by the window, a direct view to the streets but with still enough distance to it so none of the creeps could tap on the glass and freak them out during dinner. 

“I’ll wait for my company, thank you.” Armie tells her, and she smiles and bids him goodbye. 

The driver is on point. Armie arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes early. That’s a lot of time to kill, especially if you’re likely to spend more time waiting for your date than the actual date itself. He texted Liz to tell her that he'd arrived and her reply came almost instantly. 

_From: Liz_

_6:45_

_nervous?_

Armie stared at it, fighting the urge to snort. Did the conversation on the phone happen or not? 

_To: Liz_

_6:46_

_absolutely. you should try being set up to a blind date only to tell him you think it’s a waste of time_

Armie glances around, tempted to order ahead and have some wine. 

_From: Liz_

_6:46_

_get off your phone, i texted him he said he’s already rounding up the corner. he’s about to walk in any moment now, good luck x_

Armie checks the time and estimates Timothée to be here ten minutes before seven, which he can’t quite place if it’s European punctuality or he’s just eager to show up. Despite being told off, he still sends another message. 

_To: Liz_

_6:47_

_can’t wait to disappoint <3 _

A message from Liz came almost exactly at the same time that he sent his sarcastic text, so Armie assumed it’s not a response. 

_From: Liz_

_6:47_

_[see attached image]_

Armie is unlocking his phone when it buzzed in his hand, another message from Liz coming in. 

_From: Liz_

_6:48_

_don’t ever say i didn’t take pity on you. that’s a pic of him_

Unconsciously, Armie straightens up from his chair and opens his inbox. When the picture flashed on his cellphone screen, Armie uttered a quick prayer for his soul or a string of profanity - he can’t really tell - and no, _no Liz_ , he thought, _this is_ not _taking pity on me._

The brightness to the picture - or the lack of it - tells him it’s taken in an apartment with warm lighting, but still a bit dim, likely nighttime. Timothée is hunched over a grand piano, one arm resting on top, his hand dangling, the other clapped over his knee. He looks slim and lanky, even more so because he’s wearing an oversized sweater. From the way his head is tilted, Armie had some trouble making out the features of his face given the dips of it that the light cannot reach. It's also this very scarcity that allows Timothée’s angles to be sharpened and Jesus, but the boy has got a strongly sculpted face. Angular and sharp in the most attractive way, and it certainly doesn't help that his hair is grown out a bit, just enough so his curls fall all around his face. Honestly, Armie feels he could go on and on about how breathtaking the boy is. Everything is in contrast with another. He’s structured and edged, but his features are soft and dainty. His hooded eyes look like they could stare Armie down and make him feel small - which is a lot because he’s hundred ninety-six centimeters - yet his lips mellow them down. He's pale, pale enough that the redness from the cold is stark on his skin.

It's all suddenly too much and Armie struggles to catch his breath. Timothée looks drawn out of his fantasies, lithe and dark but delicate and beautiful. He’s in so much trouble, because obviously Liz would write sonnets for him, his very best friend adores the living daylights out of this Julliard-educated French masterpiece of a man, and Armie will probably mess up by desperately trying to get into his pants. 

It’s good that Armie took a moment to put the phone down and breathe slowly, so he notices that something in the room has shifted and a lot of the people on the other side near the front are drawn towards the reception. Armie frowns and scoots over, expecting a rude customer or a famous celebrity. Instead, his vision is assaulted by a very bright magenta suit, and the only thing comical about the situation is Armie and how the very thing he’s itching to poke fun of is now making him feel like that ground has been snatched from under his feet. 

_It’s him, it’s Timothée_ , Armie thought, and everything about him is a personal attack. His hair is the same length as the picture Liz sent, parted in the middle and framing his cheekbones. Timothée lifts his hand to write something, then pushes his strands to tuck them behind his ears, his gold jewelry catching the light and reflecting. His suit, that _fucking_ suit, the one that Armie felt mortified about after being told his date would step into the restaurant wearing goddamn _magenta_ suit, is now the best possible thing that happened to him in a while. It’s so perfectly tailored to Timothée, loose enough to be comfortable, but the figure is not lost as the fabric is smooth. He’s pale, even more in person than in his picture, and that color. Oh my, but it looks like he bled it out and it’s clung onto him. Timothée is otherworldly, nothing like any other that Armie has seen before. He’s a different league, too much, too beautiful, too delicate, too dangerous, and Armie is definitely one eye contact away from panic. He desperately searches for his reflection, first on the window, then on his phone, checking his hair, his suit. He blows out air to smell his breath. There’s a threatening feeling of inadequacy occupying his chest, and when the hostess brings Timothée to their table and their eyes connect, Armie has surrendered the night. 

_It’s done and over with,_ Armie thought, _you win this one, Liz._

*******

Timmy was supposed to meet with Liz in an Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away from his flat, or so he assumed. She did _not_ tell him that they’ll meet after the exhibit, but she _did_ tell him to keep his schedule open. By lunch, he received a text from her asking if he’ll go to this blind date she set him up for, the same place she mentioned. As much as Timmy was suspicious, Liz was very persuasive, so he agreed and told her she owes him for this. 

It is not such a big deal, to be honest. The man is Liz’s college ex and best friend, which was a weird way to begin describing a blind date. But then again, as she said, college to them was more than a decade ago and all that there was in their two year relationship has already gone and dissolved. He’s an heir, his family is old money, and he runs the business now though his father is still active. It didn’t take a lot to convince Timmy, especially since he’s only stayed in New York since college. As far as he’s concerned, you can never know _enough_ people in New York. And besides, Liz is pretty sensible. She’s not about to set him up with someone when she thinks nothing good will come out of it. Timmy trusts her. So with not much grudge and expectations, he goes. 

Liz and Marzia - a good friend who works in the restaurant he’s going to - texted him just minutes apart. 

_From: Liz_

_6:44_

_armie’s already in the restaurant_

Timmy frowns. He’s sure they’re supposed to meet at seven, and he’s _early_ because he’ll be there in five minutes, yet it still makes him feel bad. It’s a mixture of the etiquette he’s grown up with (more like drilled into his being through nagging) and the impression that Armie Hammer is an important man in New York and Timmy really doesn’t want to keep him waiting. 

_To: Liz_

_6:45_

_What? Does that make me late?_

With the speed that Liz is replying, Timmy assumes she’s on her phone texting Armie as well. 

_From: Liz_

_6:46_

_no i just made sure armie could make it_

Timmy narrows his eyes. Is his date forced into this? Awesome. 

_From: Marzia_

_6:45_

_ur date is here_

Sighing, Timmy quickly responds that he knows, then types a message to Liz. 

_To: Liz_

_6:47_

_Did you harass him into going to this date? Please don’t tell me he’ll be awkwardly apologizing to me before I could sit down._

_From: Liz_

_6:48_

_the two of you literally overthink everything. just show up_

Just as he’s reading Liz’s reply, a text banner appeared on top of his screen; a message from Marzia. 

_From: Marzia_

_6:48_

_u will be in trouble_

Timmy stops walking altogether. A middle-aged woman slams onto his back, and he immediately apologizes before moving to the sides. 

_To: Marzia_

_6:48_

_What do you mean?_

_From: Marzia_

_6:49_

_tall, like 2 meters, blonde, blue eyes, natural tan, looks like he can surf but i doubt it_

_From: Marzia_

_6:49_

_or maybe he can? he looks like he can afford an island. also broad, you know but not like stuffy? not super big that it’s scary_

The restaurant is three doors down and frankly at this point nothing can be done anymore. He’ll just have to walk in and face the music. _If I die, I die,_ Timmy tells himself. And so he walks in, his eyes immediately searching for a two meters tall blonde and blue eyed man that he doesn’t notice Marzia coming up to his side. 

“Your table is far back.” She tells him. 

Timmy jumps, then laughs nervously. “What’s he like?” 

Marzia shrugs, sliding over a paper and a pen for his signature. “Polite, at least. Hard to tell. He’s very-” she makes a face, an attempt to look serious, then pulls her shoulders back, rigid. “Professional. Like that.” 

“Think he’s going to mind my bright suit?” Timmy asks, scribbling. 

Marzia chuckles in a way that makes Timmy feel a bit ridiculous. “I think your suit is how he can know it’s you. Maybe the woman who made the reservation told him. You look good, though.” She takes the pen and paper and saunters to lead him to the table. “And he’s already here, isn’t he? You can ask him yourself.” 

Timmy walks behind her, his eyes scanning the room for anyone who might fit the description. Halfway through, his gaze landed on a man fussing over himself, combing his hair back, loosening his tie before tying it up again, brushing his sleeves. If his profile is anything to go by, he’s a Slavic god. Marzia pauses to follow his gaze and smirks. 

“Like what you see?” 

Timmy breaks his creepy staring. “Well, too bad I have a date. And that’s the straightest man I’ve seen today.” 

Marzia grins wider, eyes darting back and forth from Timmy to the guy before saying “Well why don’t we go and meet your date then.” 

Timmy chances another glance at the man, this time he’s checking his breath. He looks like he’s on his first date with a person he’s worked up the courage to ask, or maybe a second or third with one he genuinely wants to keep seeing in the long run. It’s adorable and lifts Timmy’s mood, even if there’s a massive part of him that feels devastated that it’s not him who would be sitting across the man. 

  
In some twisted mismanagement of fate, Marzia walks him straight up to the Slavic god’s table. Now, Timmy is usually a very clever kid, but he admits that it took him a few seconds and a panicked back and forth glance from Marzia to his dream date before it occurs to him that _this_ is Armie Hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're going to tell me you have no idea what magenta suit I'm talking about, then by all means please, twist the knife and make it stop hurting. Don't do yourself dirty like that, look it up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all you lovely people for leaving comments! And those who haven't yet... don't be shy!

It took several hyper-intense moments before either Armie or Timmy could break their gaze and acknowledge each other like normal people. Marzia stood on the side, at first thrilled before quickly growing awkward and out of place when it’s obvious that the two would be on to something earnest and fierce tonight. 

“Feel free to flag us down when you’re ready to order, yeah?” She casually says under her breath, trying to speak softly to avoid completely shattering their moment. 

Armie seemed to have recovered first, blinking rapidly before his eyes landed on Marzia. “Of course, thank you.” He says, back to being charming and composed. 

Shortly, Timmy breaks out of his own trance, shuffling his feet and rolling the rings on his fingers. “So, Mr. Hammer?” 

Marzia is slowly retreating and barely stops herself from snorting. 

“Please, it’s a date. Call me Armie.” The man replies, gesturing for Timmy to take a seat. 

Marzia normally would linger, try to engage them in a conversation, ask if they’d like anything, or if they would order at a specific time. However, Timmy has been a regular to this place and also a good friend of hers. It’s a moral obligation for her to leave him be when he’s absolutely smitten three seconds into his blind date. So she walks over the front where Chiara is standing by the reception. 

“So?” She asks in French. “How’s the first impression?” 

Giggling, Marzia makes kissy faces. “Absolutely floored.”

“Oh, Timmy…” Chiara coos, sympathetic. 

“Oh no, no.” Marzia shakes her head chidingly. “The two of them!” 

Chiara made no effort to hide her delight, her jaw dropping and her eyes going wide. “No way! The Greek sculpture guy?” 

Shrugging, Marzia says “Maybe Timmy’s his type. You know, opposites.” 

“I will be squeezing this story out of him, ASAP.” 

“Same.” 

*******

Armie has never felt so thrown off his game since the first time he went out with a guy after coming out. And what is this night except that, really? He had an enduring phase around his mid-twenties when he began doubting if embracing his sexuality actually meant anything in the long run, or if it was a side of him better off repressed because the nothingness that came after it certainly wasn’t worth the hassle. There had been self-loathing thrown into the mix too, especially when he questioned himself if he scapegoated on his bisexuality in order to close his dating history with Liz for good. Their families wanted them married right after college, too much pressure too soon. Armie hadn’t felt like he'd lived  _ enough _ . He’d been in love with her, and he loves her now, in a different way, and neither is more genuine than the other. Still, he can’t help over-analyzing the decisions he’s already made and paid for, because he has not felt any sort of relief which should ideally follow it. 

And if there shall ever come a time in the future when Armie would return to that slump of self-doubt, he’d make sure to look back on this moment, however this thing may turn out, and fondly recall how every nerve ending he’s pulled too taut over the years of  _ searching, searching, searching _ had finally snapped back into their rightful places, his blood running hot and his skin feeling lighted anew. Timothée is rubbing his palms on his knees, Armie can tell as he follows the movements of his arms disappearing under the table, and then gives him a smile that tells Armie he’s equally thrilled and shy. 

“So,” Timothée licks his lips and pressed them together and Armie can’t believe he’s doing it to stop himself from grinning too much. “Liz got us both, huh?” 

Armie laughs then shakes his head. “I don’t see a bad thing coming out of it, to be honest.”  _ My God, but the kid is practically an open book,  _ Armie thought as Timothée’s suppressed grin makes its way back to his face. “Timothée, yeah? You can tell I really tried, right?” 

Timothée laughs at this, seemingly more startled with Armie’s boldness than actually finding it hilarious. “Yes, very close but I’d never hold it against you. Just call me Timmy, everyone does.” 

Armie pushes down the urge to fetch for compliments by asking if he’s among  _ everyone _ . Instead, he guided the conversation into the mandatory small talk, asking about Timmy’s day and talking a bit about his own. This exchange immediately opens the topic of their careers, and Timmy tells Armie that he’s mainly working on music, lots of classical and theater. To his surprise, Timmy isn’t always the one on the stage. In fact, he rather finds it more enjoyable to be in the creative process. He makes art on the side too. Paintings and sculptures. He sells them and nearly the entirety of the proceeds go to charity. Armie is very tempted to quip that Timmy must be really good with his hands, but it’s too tacky, and he can’t even imagine how many times Timmy’s already had it said to him so Armie kept it to himself. 

Timmy pauses suddenly, raising a brow like he’s daring Armie to speak. “Not gonna tell me how good I am with my hands yet?” 

There was no way Armie could stop the laugh that escaped him. “It’s up in here, not gonna lie.” He says, pointing flippantly to his head. “Ready to order?” 

“Yes, please.” Timmy says, straightening in his seat. Armie raises his hand to flag down a server. “Have you been here before?” 

Armie shakes his head. “No, never, and that’s my cue to warn you that I’m sort of uncultured.” 

“What?” Timmy asks, laughing.

“Oh man, the moment I walked in here I knew it’s one of those places whose menu I’d never even get around.” It absolutely makes no sense for Armie to put himself down like this, though it’s true. To his credit, he’s well-traveled and would dare call himself an adventurous eater. 

“It’s not like that, trust me.” Timmy assures him. 

“You come here often?” Armie asks, genuinely curious. 

Shrugging, Timmy says “You can say that. I know the hostess, Marzia, from way back, as in time and place.” He stops talking, a small smile draws his lips up as he recalls a story. “It’s actually in Italy. We’re neighbors, one of the only other French families with American ties in the town so we naturally clicked.” 

“Wait, Italy? I thought you’re French?” 

“Well, nationality and citizenship, it’s French-American. But my dad owns this summer home in Italy. It’s a small town in the north called Crema.” Timmy answers casually, and Armie figures this probably came up often enough that he’s got his background condensed in two sentences. “We spent some holidays there as well, basically switching between Crema and Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, in France.” 

Armie knows that fussing over Timmy’s cultural background would only serve to further prove the fact that he’s an American whose only language is English and the extent of his cultural diversity is his move from L.A to New York. “Okay so I hope if I give up and just ask you to order for me, you won’t be so surprised. I’m all too American, as in bland.” 

“Oh you,” Timmy chuckles fondly. “This one’s fine, really. If we’d be at a French one, no surprise.” 

“We could totally be at one.” 

Timmy’s eyes shoot up to meet Armie’s. “Totally,” he agrees and Armie just about internally jumped up. 

Marzia thankfully arrives before the two of them could tease the moment further. Upon receiving the menu, Armie feels Timmy watching him, though trying to be subtle about it. Armie thinks Timmy already knows what he’s getting since he frequents this place, so it’s either he’s just waiting for Armie to call him for suggestions or Timmy is checking him out. Armie can confidently say that he has absolutely no problem either way. As it happens, which Armie bets is going to be often, Timmy is right about the place. There was hardly any trouble ordering, but Armie still engages Timmy in a conversation, exchanging suggestions and preferences. Timmy asks him if he could have wine, probably assuming that Armie might be driving, so he tells him that he’ll have a driver pick him up. A little wine won’t hurt. He allows Timmy to order for the two of them and listens to him talk about the Italian summers he’s had where he met Marzia. There were orchards, swimming in rivers and biking along dirt roads. It sounded peaceful and leisurely, such a languid life spent in the countryside. Armie has been to Italy a couple of times, yet none of those visits ever left him with an impression that Timmy does now that he’s talking about it. 

“What about you?” Timmy gestures to him, asking him to trade stories of his own. 

Armie racks his brain for stories that would amount to the ones Timmy shared. It’s not like he’s cooped up in one place all of the time. He travels and goes on holidays, but now that he looks back on them his escapades had looked more like a mindless chase for life than anything else. “I’m originally from Los Angeles, born and raised, then growing up I lived in both New York and L.A back and forth.” 

“City boy,” Timmy quips playfully. 

“Absolutely,” Armie claims. “I’ve never known that quiet small town life. The closest I have to that is L.A because it’s  _ L.A, _ you know? Such a lazy place to just hang and bum around.” 

“Strange how it’s busy at the same time.” 

“Right? L.A is basically what you want to make it.” 

Timmy turns his head to the window, watching the city lights and the people cross and bump with each other. “I see the charm, not gonna lie.” He finally says after a beat, his eyes returning to meet Armie’s. “Look at the rush around here. The city’s constantly buzzing. It makes you want to get on your feet and get down to work.” 

“That’s true, and what better time to burn yourself out if not in your twenties to thirties?” Armie deadpans, the two of them holding each other’s gaze solemnly before finally breaking out in a fit of giggles. 

They chat more after that, mostly mundane things like the weather and sports. Armie is delighted to find out that Timmy would’ve done soccer -  _ football, _ Timmy would insist - if he hadn’t pursued arts and music. He’s perfectly paradoxical; the things that stand out about him would balance each other out, and Armie enjoys every second in Timmy’s company, even to just watch him across the table with his little nose scrunches at minor inconveniences, or hear him talk on and on about his life or his passion or both. He’s eloquent but grounded, obviously educated and even more well-read. Armie finds that it’s such a wonder to simply be within Timmy’s bubble; to be on the receiving end of his attention and his cheeky teasing, to be listened to and watched earnestly. Armie could practically feel the wave of thrill pouring off his skin. 

When Marzia returned with their orders, Armie and Timmy both jumped back, startled, realizing only then that they had been leaning towards each other across the table. Armie feels Marzia eyeing them and catches her at the perfect time when she sends Timmy a quick teasing grin and a brow raise, their familiarity showing when Timmy makes a face at her, widening his eyes as if to tell her to keep quiet while his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from grinning back. Out of respect, and frankly to hide his own wide smile, Armie pretends that his entire attention has been snagged by the food placed on their table. They thankfully agree on pasta for each of them, a plate of fish for Timmy and chicken for Armie with salad. 

It was not a problem for either of them to pick up their conversation, even in between bites. This time, it’s shifted to their families. Armie learns that Timmy’s mother is directly involved in Actors’ Equity, while his father is in the United Nations for international relations and diplomacy. He has a sister, Pauline, an actress based in Paris. In his years of navigating around different types of people, Armie could already tell that Timmy grew up in a family driven by passion, and it’s  _ expensive. _ His parents work for causes and are actively involved in activism and philanthropy, while Timmy and his sister pursued arts, and all of it together are already telling of the family’s inherent wealth that allows them to afford the lives that would feed the satisfaction of their souls. Despite this, Timmy openly acknowledges his privilege without overbearing it. He has impeccable manners and virtues and Armie just burrows deeper and deeper into his attraction to the younger man, already thinking of the following meetings that Timmy might grant him with even if their night is far from over. 

“And you?” Timmy says, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “What would you have done if not the family business?” 

Armie takes a moment to consider the question. Usually, he would play it cool and say that he’s basically been  _ groomed  _ to take over and it’s a responsibility that he was born into. It would not be a lie, but there is a better answer that he never really uses, until now. “Would you believe me if I say I almost dropped out of senior year in high school because I was convinced I wanted to do acting?” 

For most part of the night, neither Armie nor Timmy could wipe the excited grins off their faces, but the one that tugs at Timmy’s lips made his eyes twinkle, his delight so palpable that you could name it even just through his eyes. “Acting? Really? You’re not just saying that?” 

Timmy’s response had Armie basking under it like it’s a warm stream of sunlight in a lazy afternoon, and that alone makes it worth exposing himself for. “I swear, I was so close to just saying fuck all and jumping into auditions. I’m from L.A, I’m literally  _ right there _ .” 

“Do you regret it?” Timmy is tactful with the question, his eyes watching Armie just in case he crossed a line. 

As far as Armie is concerned, Timmy can do no wrong, so he keeps on talking. “Oh no, my family would have disowned me, but not just that. It  _ was _ something I wanted to do, like for real, but at that time I don’t think I would’ve done it for the right reasons, you know? If I did drop out to pursue acting, it would’ve been because I just wanted to know who I am if not the heir to my family’s corporation.” 

“And now? Acting is completely off the table?” Timmy asks, sipping his wine. He’s an open book, but at the same time he’s so at ease, so comfortable in his own skin and self-assured in a way that Armie never truly was when he was Timmy’s age. It’s so massively attractive. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no under  _ particular  _ circumstances.” And because he’s on a roll, Armie threw in a wink after the innuendo. 

Timmy blinks in surprise, startled at the unexpected sex reference, especially since Armie really behaved tonight. Pursing his lips, Timmy looks down on the table, his hair following the movement of his head, just so he could attempt to hide the blush that seems to burn his cheeks. “Nice to know you’re keeping the dream alive still,” Timmy finally responds, his composure totally thrown off but still meets Armie’s eyes. 

“Well, as they say, it only takes the right person.” Armie deadpans, though absolutely pleased with his dumbass self. “Hey, you’re pretty much in that world, maybe I’d let you judge one day.” 

Timmy is just looking at him, jaw clenched and his tongue poking his cheek. “What an honor. I’d try my best, though I have to tell you that’s really not the performing arts I trained for.” 

Due to the absolute lack of foresight in a game he started, Armie asks “What type of performing arts did you train for?” 

“Ballet,” Timmy leans back on his chair as soon as he says it, watching Armie’s face as he takes in the information as his brain visibly shorts out. 

“Ballet,” Armie repeats, his head racing and on sensory overload. 

Timmy claps once, laughing. “Oh my God, Armie, you look like you’re about to risk it all.” 

Armie puts his elbow on the table, his face going into his hand and hiding behind his fingers. “Man, I lose  _ all _ my game around you, I swear to God.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Armie hears Timmy ask, teasing but still tinged with slight worry. 

Placing his hand back on his lap, Armie looks over to Timmy and makes sure their gazes are leveled before speaking. “No, not at all.” Armie contemplates his words for a moment, but figures it should be said, just so he could see if there’s still a chance he read all the signals wrong tonight. “It’s the best thing to happen to me in a while.” 

When Timmy beams at him with such open astonishment and wonder, Armie would’ve sworn he’s never felt so alive before this moment. “You think that feeling’s gonna stick around?” Timmy licks his lips, and everything about his body language gives away how nervous he is on testing the waters himself. 

“I sure hope so.” Armie replies, and hopes that all the feelings he cannot put into words and tactfully should not on a first date are at least communicated through his eyes as he holds Timmy’s stare. 

Timmy nods, letting out a long breath, his smile never leaving his face. He opens his mouth and closes it again a couple of times, visibly struggling to use his words which he rarely runs out of. In an effort to gather his thoughts, Timmy breaks away from Armie’s gaze to have a look around, just so he can reorient himself and find his grounding again. Instead, his eyes take in the view of the restaurant as it nearly empties. “Oh wow-” 

Armie frowns for a second before following Timmy’s eyes and realizing what he did. He chuckles softly, even though a part of him is slightly irked over the fact that their time together should respectfully be over. “We got carried away there, huh?” 

Timmy looks back at him, then takes a moment to study his face before chuckling bashfully. “Geez, I wonder why.” He gives Armie an explicit once over and moves his brows playfully. 

Armie already has his hand in the air to request their bill when he catches Timmy’s response and laughs. “You’re one to talk.” He didn’t even accept any protest from Timmy when it came to paying for their dinner, which was such a laughably small price to pay to be able to spend his evening around possibly the best blind date he’s ever had. 

As they were leaving the restaurant, Timmy said “Well, you’re going to have to let me cover next time.” He stops when they hit the pavement, his head kept low as he looks up to Armie under his lashes. 

Armie made no effort to hide how delighted he was of the idea, and didn’t think it would hurt to push his luck further. “I do hope it’s sooner rather than later.” 

“It could happen tomorrow lunch if you’re bold enough.” Timmy answers without missing a beat, and suddenly it’s hard to imagine that he’s the same man who looks so unsure of asking for a second date. 

“I heard fortune favors the bold,” Armie clicks his tongue, feigning contemplation. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch then.” 

When Timmy gives him another smile, Armie seriously begins to wonder how far he’ll go to keep it coming. “Walk me home?” 

It’s a whole league of new rush for Armie to know that Timmy is just as reluctant to part as he is. “Lead the way,” he answers, gesturing forward. 

Timmy didn’t immediately walk as instructed, and instead looked over at Armie expectantly. Armie scowls for a moment, so Timmy figures he’d take pity on him and glances over to his sleeve. Armie laughs, and without complaint offers his arm to Timmy, who wastes no time wrapping his arm around Armie’s elbow, and they walk towards Timmy’s apartment a couple of blocks away. 

“Has anyone told you you’re not supposed to do chivalry halfway?” Timmy teases with a light yank to his arm. 

Armie turns his head towards Timmy, wishing they could stop just so he could push his hair away from his cheeks, to cup his jaw, to slide his finger across his face. He has such an overwhelming desire to  _ touch, _ which isn’t something new, except that it’s an uncharacteristic desire to  _ simply _ touch _ , _ with no sexual intent, to simply touch to convey his affection. He’s so over the moon with this date that he feels nothing would be too much of a big deal when it’s over; not the fact that he has to be up early, or that the only way he can guarantee lunch tomorrow is to carefully rearrange his schedule and push it back as far as a week, or that generally asking your date the day after you first went out is against the unspoken rules. 

“Yeah, but they say I never listen.” Armie responds, playing along. 

“Well, you  _ acted _ pretty quickly.” Maybe Timmy knows exactly how he affects Armie and enjoys teasing him about it, maybe not, but Armie has a feeling he would’ve done anything Timmy wanted if only he asked. 

“What am I going to do? Refuse you?” Armie made himself sound as affronted as he could manage. 

Timmy shows his appreciation with a chuckle. “Don’t tell me that hasn’t been an option tonight.” 

“When Liz told me she set me up on a blind date, I was ready to disappear from the face of the Earth.” Armie doesn’t know why he’s confessing this, especially now that he’s already walking Timmy home and their night would’ve been completely perfect if it would end on that note. 

“Tell me about it.” Timmy was not offended or worried by the admission. If anything, he sounds encouraging and curious. 

“I’m scared shitless of her.” At that, Timmy laughs, looking up at him. Armie sniggers back. “Well that, and the fact that she knows me too well.” 

“She set you up often?” Timmy asks, still staring up at Armie. 

Armie shakes his head, though the few times Liz has done it felt one too many. “No, not at all. It’s just weird, you know? Shit, I don’t know why I’m running my mouth like this, our night has been perfect so far - well Liz was my ex, but that was so long ago-” 

“College, more than a decade ago,” Timmy supplies, letting Armie know that Liz already told him. 

“Oh okay, good that you know already, because I’m just about to trip over myself explaining it.” 

“But you were going to tell me yourself,” Timmy points out, like he’s moved by it. “That was nice.” 

Armie knows exactly what Timmy is saying. Of course Liz would’ve said something before sending Timmy off to their date, and Timmy still  _ went, _ despite the risk of complications following a blind date set up by the other party’s literal ex-girlfriend. He probably had reservations about this date, or came and expected to be disappointed. It probably puts his worries permanently at rest when Armie brings it up himself, to clear the air. 

“You have no idea how much I want to do this right.” Armie says, essentially baring his whole self. 

“I think I do, and if it’s any consolation, I feel the same.” Timmy waits for Armie to drop his gaze to his before giving him another tentative smile. 

They continued to chat after that, thankfully at a more casual flow. They talked about the food at the restaurant and about the buskers they passed by and that one street act that looked like it escaped the circus. Timmy entertains Armie with his own stories of performing, except that they were mostly the failed moments he considered hilarious, like a wardrobe malfunction while doing ballet, or misreading a note and messing up so much it stands out in the band. Armie can’t say he understood everything, but he loves hearing Timmy talk, loves to listen to his voice, even if he struggles to catch his words every time he would use French terms in ballet or musical terms in Italian and his pronunciation and accent would be spot on, or at least as far as Armie could tell. Armie made sure to give stories of his own, and now that it’s out of the way Timmy liked to hear about Liz, likely because it’s a common ground for them both. So Armie spilled some embarrassing stories of Liz’s, because Timmy asked. He told Timmy that Liz was legendary when she’s drunk, literally would try  _ anything, _ which is why she should be considered a general threat because you never know. Armie also mentioned that one time that his brother, Viktor, pranked Liz, replacing all her cooling cookies with ones he baked on his own, which tasted absolutely horrendous, but miraculously visually pretty. It would’ve been harmless fun, except that Liz was supposed to take the cookies to an orphanage, and it all turned pretty dark from there. 

“Oh my,” Timmy gasps, his chuckles escaping despite his effort to contain it. “What did she do?” 

“I wasn’t there, so I only know Viktor’s side of the story. According to him, he was really about to come out and own it, but Liz already had ingredients on the counter, ready to bake a fresh batch, and all this would make sense if you’d seen her in the kitchen, but she’s basically a machine, but like, snappy. She’d nick your hand if you so much as try to touch her food.” Armie recalls, shaking his head slightly. “It was a disaster, basically. It’s such a large batch, and I don’t really know how this baking thing goes, but things went horribly wrong, so Viktor  _ had _ to come out about his prank when Liz was so close to breaking down. It turned so mean so fast, and I’m glad I wasn’t there, because I’m an idiot. I would’ve bolted.” 

Timmy laughed. “It’s good that she didn’t hold it against him.” 

“Nah,” Armie replies. “We all basically lived out of each other’s pockets. It’s just a running gag now, whenever Viktor and Liz are at the kitchen at the same time.” 

Timmy nods, still smiling, probably trying to picture the scenario. He looks up to Armie again, and then to the building at his left. “This would be my stop.” He says, nodding his head towards his apartment building. 

It was a typical New York City apartment building, polished and nice, but not overly expensive and posh. Armie doesn’t know why he’s surprised, especially since Timmy has never shown any indication of fondness for luxuries, which was the truest sign that he  _ is _ old money if Armie has ever seen one. Born into wealth and accustomed to it; appreciative but rarely impressed. 

“Thanks, for not disappearing from the face of the Earth when Liz set you up.” Timmy says, teasing him about his hesitancy to show up, making Armie laugh. “And for tonight,” he adds. 

“Look what I would’ve missed if I did.” This time, Armie turns to face Timmy and pushes his hair away from his face. Timmy instinctively leans into his touch, and Armie’s heart pounded loudly in his chest. He knows that their night couldn’t have gone better, and he could speak for the two of them with confidence, so Armie figures it’s the cue for him to sneak in a kiss, even just a quick one, before he calls for his driver for a ride home. Timmy looks like he’s anticipating it, looking directly at Armie’s eyes, except that no date is ever  _ truly  _ perfect, is there? Naturally, Armie’s phone rang, making them jump. 

Timmy breathes out raggedly, startled. Armie shoots him an apologetic smile. 

“Would you look at that,” Armie says. “It’s my mother.” 

Frowning, Timmy spent a second not knowing what to do with himself, until Armie showed him the caller ID, revealing it to be Liz. He laughs at that, relieved that he’s not hearing Armie’s actual mother over the phone on the very first date. 

“I told you to call me when you’re home.” Liz says over the line, sounding a little annoyed. “Like,  _ actually _ call me.” 

Armie pinched his nose. “I’m not home yet.” There was a long silence over Liz’s side, probably trying to decode what Armie meant. “Timmy, say hi.” Armie takes the phone away from his ear, placing it between Timmy and himself and putting Liz on loudspeaker. 

“Hey Liz!” Timmy quips immediately. 

Armie imagines it was panic, because as soon as Timmy’s voice carried over to Liz’s line, she hung up. Armie and Timmy exchanged looks, then burst out in giggles. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to go. I’ll call my driver to come get me here. It won’t take long.” 

Timmy considers him for a moment, then sighs. “I guess I do have to let you off tonight after all.” He glances over Armie’s phone and holds out his palm. “Want my number?” 

Armie grins, appreciating Timmy’s sense because his has obviously gone awry. “And then some.” He answers, handing his phone over. 

Timmy punches in his number, trying to control the smile on his face. “There,” he says, offering Armie’s phone back. 

Armie moves to take it, and then Timmy crowds into his personal space, stealing his breath away. Timmy pauses when their faces are leveled before smiling at Armie, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. “And then some,” he agrees. “Good night, Armie.” Timmy retreats into his building, glancing back at Armie frozen in his spot, laughing then waving at him, getting Armie out of his trance. 

“Good night,” is all Armie managed to say. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry I can't reply to the comments, but thank you all for your kind words! I just open this site, post and close it because I do have papers to write and if I stay here I'm going to fail this semester, you know what I mean. I'll definitely get back to you when my semester is done! Love you all x

Armie has never felt lighter and more well-rested than he does now, even though his night was short and his sleep had been interrupted twice. He even went on an early morning jog and made his own breakfast instead of picking up something on his way to work. If any of his employees noticed that he walked into the office chirpier than they’d ever seen him, no one said anything, though he could feel them exchange looks as he passed by. Jenny greets him from her desk and gives him a quick run through of their schedule for the day. 

“I need lunch cleared out,” Armie interrupts, stopping on his heels. 

Jenny blinks in confusion. Usually, Armie would ask her to bring in something because lunch had never really been a break time for him. “No business, sir?” 

Armie nods, flipping through contracts. “I’d be off the radar for the entire duration. I’d be heading out…” He trails off, unsure. He makes a mental note to text Timmy when he settles into his desk. “Or something like that.” 

“Of course, sir, I’d just…” Jenny scratches the back of her ear. “A lot of your work would be set back by at least half a day.” 

“That’s fine.” Armie could feel Jenny’s eyes on him. He meets her eyes, questioning. 

She breaks her trance, shaking her head lightly. Clearing her throat, she says “Well, okay, we’ll - I mean I’ll just-” she gestures across the screen of the iPad she’s holding. “Rearrange stuff.” 

Armie nods, dismissing her. She forces a smile, her eyes darting around with how thrown off she is of Armie’s behavior, before turning to leave his office. “Thanks, Jen.” 

When she’s gone through the door, Armie tosses the folder on his desk and fishes out his phone. 

_To: Timmy_

_9:45_

_good morning, it’s Armie. i hope you haven’t changed your mind on lunch today_

He leans back on his chair, reading his own text over and over again, and each time it looks worse and worse. There’s nothing to be done about it since it’s already sent, but he couldn’t help but fuss over it. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait very long and overthink his own text. Timmy sent a reply a couple of minutes later. 

_From: Timmy_

_9:48_

_Armie, hi, good morning. Yes, of course, are you at work?_

Armie glances over his desk, he has three contracts he has to review, but they would have to wait. 

_To: Timmy_

_8:49_

_yes unfortunately, so you’ll have me two hours tops 11 to 1_

_From: Timmy_

_8:50_

_Not a problem. I can bring over our lunch if that’s okay?_

Armie recalls that Timmy lives on the other side of the town and worries it might be a hassle. 

_To: Timmy_

_8:51_

_i dont want to inconvenience you, my office is like 30 minutes away from your place. we could meet halfway_

_From: Timmy_

_8:52_

_I’m free today, unless you have another place in mind?_

Smiling, Armie imagines Timmy second guessing himself again. He shakes his head, incredulous. He swears Timmy goes from absolutely sure of himself that it’s hazardous for Armie’s health to deer in the headlights disorientation. He quickly types his office address, telling him to chat with the receptionist and say that Armie would be expecting him at eleven so he could be buzzed in directly to his office. 

_From: Timmy_

_8:55_

_Awesome, any allergies? Or food you simply can’t stand?_

_To: Timmy_

_8:55_

_no allergies. you’d be surprised at how willing id generally be if it came from you_

Armie hits send before he could start to think better of it. 

_From: Timmy_

_8:56_

_Ditto._

It’s a literal one word reply and Armie is grinning at his phone. Armie composes a quick reply, telling Timmy he’ll see him at lunch, because to keep up their texting would mean Armie would get absolutely _no work_ done, and Jenny might put a few drops of cyanide in his coffee if he dumps away his workload. He returns to his papers shortly after that, or at least tries to, given how distracted he actually is. Armie could practically feel himself buzzing with excitement knowing that he’ll get to spend time with Timmy at lunch. 

At least he gets through one folder, and is in the process of annotating another one when his door unceremoniously opens without warning, and his brother steps into his office with a shit-eating grin that makes Armie want to tackle him to the ground. 

“What the fuck is your face doing here?” Armie demands, flipping the folder on the desk. 

Viktor is already laughing as he walks over the chair across Armie’s desk. “To give you shit, what else.” He sits down and finds a crumpled note in the corner of the desk and pelts it to Armie. “Liz told me you were with your _date_ until almost midnight.” 

Armie scowls at his brother. “Are you really here to gossip with me? Get the hell out. I’m working.” There’s no actual heat in his words, but he’s extra crass today because he knows for a fact he would probably _gush_ if he talks about Timmy. 

“Nope,” he pops the word, then pulls out his phone to read him an email. “So basically they want a revision on that particular clause on the contract, or they’ll pull out first thing next week.” 

Armie raises his brow. “That can be arranged, why are they so aggressive about it?” 

“No fucking clue. Jenny already took note of it and said she’ll run it by you later this afternoon because apparently, you asked to clear out your lunch.” Viktor is gripping the armrests now, thrilled in a massively childish way that makes Armie want to reach out and whack him. “Breakfast is not enough now, huh?” 

Armie would usually go along with it, probably tease back or something, but Timmy is _actually_ the first person he’s really interested in in a long while. “I didn’t spend the night with him.” Armie says, tossing his pen on the desk with the folder. 

Viktor looks confused, his grin tentatively pulling itself back into a scowl. “What? Liz _literally_ called me around eleven just to say she called you and you were still with this Timmy guy.” 

“Yeah, I walked him home, then I went home.” Armie says, trying to sound as flippant so Viktor would just get off his back. 

He opens and closes his mouth, trying to read through Armie. “What?” 

Armie shrugs, as if to say _there it is_. 

“Wait, wait. Let’s back it up a bit, this date _did_ go well, right?” 

Armie thankfully has a very good relationship with his brother so he usually communicates well with him. He does not understand the irritation that bubbles up in his chest as Viktor pries him about his date. “Yeah, yeah, really well. We uh, sort of lost track of time and left the restaurant at closing. He lived a few blocks away so I walked him home.” 

Viktor is staring at him, trying to take him apart. “So?” He urges on, his face literally saying _you already told me this_. “You’re meeting today at lunch?” 

“Yup,” Armie replies, not meeting Viktor’s eyes. He reaches over to tug at the end of the Newton’s cradle on his desk, setting it on motion. 

“I am so confused by everything about this. What do you think about him?” 

“You’re awfully invested into this.”

“Because you’re awfully secretive all of a sudden. It’s…” Viktor trails off, trying to find a word. “It’s new.” 

Armie clicks his tongue. “Exactly. There’s just nothing to say because we literally had dinner last night and that’s it. Not much to say here.” 

“I think there’s _a lot_ to say here if you’re meeting immediately the next day like you’re in high school.” Viktor snaps back. “You _know_ exactly what I’m asking.” 

“And I don’t have the answer, okay?” Armie finally acknowledges. “I know it’s unlike me. We spent about four hours together last night, just talking, where I’m literally the guy who goes on a date, gets a drink, have sex and leave all in the span of four hours. But last night, I just didn’t, because it’s _not_ that type of date. It’s-” Armie tugs his necktie, feeling as though it’s knotted too tightly and pressing on his throat. “And he gives me an opening to meet today, so I fucking took it.” 

Viktor’s mouth is hanging open by the time Armie stops talking. He took a few seconds to process what Armie said, and then tried to fight off his grin once he’s gone through it in his head. “This is the one thing that matters, huh?” 

This time, Viktor isn’t teasing or brazen, and it instantly extinguishes the hostility that pushed Armie to hide away from his brother. “I really, really don’t want to mess this one up.” 

“What’s he like?” Viktor asks, his fingers tapping on the armrest. 

“Works in music, performs sometimes, but mostly prefers to be involved in the process. He makes art on the side, paintings and sculptures, usually for charity.” Armie turns his chair slightly to his side so he can look over the cityscape. “French-American, Juilliard-educated, very well-read, old money.” 

“Oh wow.” The way Viktor reacted made Armie smile. He knows they’re thinking the exact same thing. “Dad would’ve loved him. Imagine the nasty shock on his face if he finds out he’s a dude.” 

Armie laughs at that. His relationship with his father immediately strained the moment he came out. Armie knew it was never _completely_ okay, that his father was only silent in his tolerance because it’s not like Armie looks like he’s settling down anytime soon, and he stands a fifty-fifty chance of a straight marriage. Deep down though, everyone in their family and their pets know that their father would squeeze out an heir out of Armie if that’s the last thing he does. 

“I know right?” Armie agrees. He puts his fingers together, pushing the tips against one another. “We’re actually having lunch _here._ ” 

Viktor raises his head, alarmed. “Please don’t-” he makes a face, gesturing to the desk. 

Armie laughs, reaching for his pen on the desk and throwing it to Viktor. “Don’t be an idiot.” 

“ _You_ don’t be an idiot!” 

Still laughing, Armie shakes his head, gesturing for Viktor to toss back his pen. “We’re _just_ having lunch, get your head out of the gutter.” 

“I cannot believe I am actually hearing these words come out of your mouth.” Viktor slowly says, emphasizing word for word as he swings his wrist to throw the pen back. “What’s he look like though?” 

Armie contemplates for a moment then figures Viktor would probably be told by his staff that Armie’s lunch date is going to his office when Timmy gets here, so he just pulls his phone out and opens Liz’s message where she attached Timmy’s picture. “Here,” Armie slides his phone through the clutter of his desk. 

Viktor leans over, his hands stopping midway from picking his phone up when he breaks out into a nearly hysterical smile. He looks at Armie, to the phone and then back, his hands that are suspended mid-air now clapping. “Oh my God, Armie,” Viktor full on erupts into laughter, enjoying his personal joke. “Liz _knew_ what she had when she met this guy and fucking _took_ the chance. You’re in so much damn trouble it’s hilarious.” 

Armie joins Viktor in his laughter, though not as frenzied, and watches as his phone screen dim before eventually blacking out. “I almost didn’t go.” Armie confessed with a shake of his head. 

“What a fucking loser you’d turn out to be.” Viktor stands up, riding out the last bouts of his laughter. “Well, I’d get going now, because it’s twenty minutes to eleven and I don’t want to be caught between you two fireworks coming across.” 

“Finally, please! Get the fuck out of my office. Some of us have work to do.” 

Viktor turns on his step and puts on a mock-offended face. “Coming from you!” 

Armie laughs and allows Viktor to have the last word, simply waving him off as he lets himself out. 

*******

It took Timmy until the last box he’s packing to finally have a moment to breathe and think he’s definitely overdoing this lunch date. When he was making quiche first thing in the morning, Timmy told himself it’s so he could have something to eat for at least two days. It’s obviously a stinking lie as he jumps when his phone pings on the counter, a message from Armie flashing across the screen. From there on, Timmy just moved around his apartment with the sole purpose of getting ready for his date, his skin thrumming with just how thrilled he feels on seeing Armie again. He hopped into the shower while the quiche baked, incessantly humming a lively pop beat and tapping his toes. He groomed and shaved, and spent a long time staring at his wardrobe and contemplating that the oven startled him when it’s done. Moving along, Timmy takes the quiche out, foregoing the rest of his clothes save for his boxers as he ties an apron to make sliders and salads. 

If these hadn’t been the literal same food he rotated during college, Timmy wouldn’t have managed to wrap everything up on time. As it happens, he knows this entire menu like the classical pieces he learned as a kid and could basically whip it all out while doing something else simultaneously. Also, he didn’t attempt something special, just so he could leave a little something to his ego, because what a sore loser he is for asking for a second date literally twelve hours after the first _and then_ proceeding to cook for said date. 

He studies himself in the mirror, brown leather jacket, white tee, skinny jeans and ankle-high boots. Tugging at the jacket, he pushes it off his shoulders and puts it back on, before finally deciding it should go because it feels tacky. In the end, he discards all items of clothing to put together a new one, figuring if he’s carrying a paper bag of food he might as well _not_ look like a delivery boy. Timmy reaches back into his wardrobe, pulling out a matching pinstripe double breasted waistcoat and skinny tailored trousers, then moves to grab the hanger of a basic white striped shirt. Was it a lot for someone who admitted that he’s free the entire day? Absolutely. But Timmy instantly feels his confidence soar, so he indulges by accessorizing with rings and putting on combat boots. Satisfied, Timmy strides back to his kitchen, all containers packed and transferred into a bag. 

“No turning back now,” Timmy mutters under his breath as he takes the bag and walks out of his building. He greets the neighbors he sees in the hallway, getting compliments back on his style. He smiles at them, bashful, and tells them to have a nice day as he passes by. 

If there ever is a time when Timmy needs the universe to be kind to him, it’s now, because if he doesn’t get a cab in the next thirty seconds he’ll be in a state of panic. As it happens, some force of nature seems to want Timmy and Armie to be together and a cab stops by him faster than any other day. He smiles at the driver and reads to him the address. Opening his browser, Timmy searched the vicinity for cafes and saw one right next to Armie’s company, which they owned too. 

_To: Armie_

_10:30_

_Coffee preference?_

No one should hold it against Timmy that he smiles when Armie’s reply comes instantly, already smitten even before he opens the text. 

_From: Armie_

_10:30_

_the sweetest one that would be the worst for me. you on your way?_

Timmy laughs at Armie’s reply, then self-consciously sucks his lips in. Armie seemed to have taken good care of his body, if his biceps last night were anything to go by. Timmy wouldn’t have thought he has such a sweet tooth. 

_To: Armie_

_10:31_

_Got it. I’ll be there before you know it._

When Armie replies immediately again, Timmy sinks on the backseat a little bit, feeling a bit gooey and floored. 

_From: Armie_

_10:31_

_screw it ill wait for you at the lobby_

Timmy bites his lips, giddy and on the verge of squealing. You’d think that a man with Armie’s stature would be stuck up or arrogant, but here he is, showing Timmy time and time again that he’s just as thrown off his game as Timmy feels. 

_To: Armie_

_10:32_

_Would I be held accountable by the company for keeping you from work?_

_From: Armie_

_10:33_

_i own it and ill forgive you for literally anything_

_To: Armie_

_10:33_

_Nice to know I’m irresistible._

_From: Armie_

_10:34_

_i cant stress that enough._

Timmy pauses to take a deep breath, his phone clutched to his chest. 

_To: Armie_

_10:35_

_Well, why don’t you finish up now so we can pick this up later. I’m still about twenty minutes away, traffic and all._

_From: Armie_

_10:36_

_what a way to turn my own words against me_

_From: Armie_

_10:36_

_but you’re right tho my assistant looks like she’s about to fire me_

Timmy reads that again, noting that Armie seems to get along well with his staff and can joke around them. At this point, Timmy wishes for something, _anything_ , to indicate that Armie is not overly perfect and dreamy, because he’s already halfway into believing just that and he might be worshipping this two meter tall Slavic god of a man at the end of the week. Just to ground himself again, Timmy decides to pull his attention out of his phone and take in his surroundings. The cab driver is listening to some disco hits in the eighties, an interesting choice for someone who Timmy estimates was just born at that time. The streets looked less and less familiar as he neared Armie’s office. It’s situated in the corporate hotspot of New York, or at least, a more concentrated amount of big companies within that area as compared to the rest of New York. He doesn’t think he’s ever frequented that side of the city, since his work and interests don’t bring him there either. It’s even busier than he’s been exposed to, the amount of people and cars across the street nearly overwhelming as they blur past Timmy’s vision in their hurry. 

When the cab was pulling up the street to where Armie’s company stands, Timmy tells the driver to stop in front of the cafe instead. He tries to control his scowl, suspicious over his bill but pays it without a word. He pulls his bag out and shuts the door behind him, taking a moment to stand frozen where he got off so he could figure out the rhythm on crossing the continuous flash of people on the pavement. Squeezing his shoulders into himself, Timmy raises a hand when someone is close enough to run straight into him then glides past people the best that he could with a paper bag of food. He thankfully manages to make it to the cafe without an accident, and proceeds to the bar to get their coffee. 

Timmy asks the barista for the sweetest coffee they serve. She laughs - _Tanya,_ according to her nametag - and says that she would recommend the owner’s go-to drink. Smiling, Timmy gives himself a mental pat on the back and tells Tanya he’ll get that and adds an order of his own. He sees macarons and couldn’t resist so he tells her she’ll get a box of it too. 

“Lunch date?” Tanya makes small talk as she puts his order in a takeaway bag. 

“Yeah, I got lucky.” Timmy replies, accepting the bag. 

Tanya checks him out, making Timmy laugh. “Nah, you earned that.” 

“Thank you then, if you really think that.” He arranges his paper bags together in one hand before looking up. “Have a nice day.” He says, and she mock-salutes to him and he leaves the cafe and into the company. 

The lobby alone is massive and spacious, horizontally and vertically. It’s the size of a ballroom, with a magnificent chandelier in the middle. It’s ostentatious, but if you make in a year what Timmy cannot hope to earn in a decade, you design your company how you liked. So he strides in, not really put off but definitely awed. He thankfully didn’t spend a long time in his disorientation as Armie pops into his line of sight, smiling before slowing down and openly staring at Timmy, jaw slacked and stunned. Timmy laughs and makes a show of looking behind his shoulders, because even during their first date Timmy already felt that the way Armie looked at him was _a lot,_ and he’s wearing that expression again, awestruck and smitten, and it’s so magnificently thrilling to know that Timmy is causing this reaction. 

Walking up to Armie and stopping a few paces in front of him, Timmy simply says “Hi.” 

“Hi _yourself,_ Mr. I’m-free-today.” Armie checks him out shamelessly. “What got you dressed up like this? Damn, you look good, have I said that?” 

Timmy laughs, blushing from the compliment. “No, but your eyes totally did. I dressed up for you, can’t you tell?” 

“Well next time warn a guy. I definitely appreciate it though.” Armie answers, giving him another once over and smiling wide. “Let me help you with that. My office is this way.” 

“I’ll wear a bell next time.” Timmy hands over the paper bag with their coffee and the box of macarons. “After you,” he gestures with his hand. 

“Don’t be a little shit now.” Armie snaps back, nose scrunching when he laughs. 

“Oh so it’s me now?” Timmy asks. “I wasn’t the one who checked out a visitor in a busy lobby. Has anyone told you it’s rude to stare, Mr. Hammer?” 

Armie looks over at him, extremely amused. “My manners are really getting thoroughly reviewed here, aren’t they?” He pressed the elevator door open, exchanged smiles and nods with the people who left before stepping in with Timmy. 

“Of course, do you think you got them all?” 

“Totally.” 

Timmy raises his brow, waiting. 

“If you’re gonna act like a fool, look good doing it.” 

Timmy bursts out laughing. “You _totally_ got them all. Impressive.” He deadpans, shaking his head. 

“Thank you, my mother always said I was a fast-learner.” Armie puts a hand to his chest to indicate he’s touched. 

“And you should thank her. You get away with a lot with those good looks you have.” 

“I know right?” Armie confidently juts his chin out to Timmy, his eyes still shining with amusement. 

Timmy can only look at Armie, chuckling. “I am blown away.” At his side, Timmy can tell Armie really tried to bite down on an innuendo at the tip of his tongue. He sucks his lips in, stopping himself from reacting. 

The elevator door opens, three people coming in and immediately engaging Armie in small talk. Armie looks over to Timmy, apologetic, and Timmy nods to him, encouraging the interaction. It’s surprising that in a company this big, Armie knew these employees by their first names and little details about their lives. He asked the middle-aged woman how her husband has been doing following an open-heart surgery, the young adult male on how he’s settling in his new job and the other woman the same age as the man if she’s still having technical problems in her area. They all seemed comfortable around him, respectful but surprisingly relaxed. They had no problem chatting amongst each other, and including their boss in the discussion. It’s even mundane stuff, like their day-to-day in the office where a plant is finally pronounced dead after weeks of watering it in the hopes of bringing it back to life, or a running gag with the other staff that involves pantry snacks. Armie genuinely listens to them. He’s attentive and courteous, not once talking over them or showing any signs of condescension. It was a wonderful dynamic that Timmy can’t say he sees often in the corporate world, and was very impressed that the few times he’d seen it, it’s the guy he’s kinda-sorta seeing. 

They got off shortly after, saying their goodbyes to Armie. Timmy watches their interactions, charmed. Armie catches him as the doors close. “What?” 

Timmy didn’t even think to lie. “You seem to have a really good relationship with your staff. They really like working for you.” 

The blunt honesty probably took Armie off guard and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I try my best to create some sort of ideal work environment for them.” He replies, likely not knowing what to do with the commentary. 

Timmy stares at Armie wordlessly until the other man meets his eyes. He blushed and chewed on his lips. Timmy realized Armie grew up to enormous responsibility being named as the heir. Recalling their conversation the night before, he notes that Armie never truly had the chance to explore his own opportunities and interests outside the family business, and to be born into corporate giants couldn’t have been a kind and gentle childhood. 

“Sounds like your assistant is spared the mercy,” Timmy chooses to steer the topic away, figuring it’s too soon for it. “She fired you yet?” 

Armie laughs, so Timmy internally sighed in relief that the tense and discomfort in Armie melts away. “Contrary to everyone's favorite opinions, I actually _did_ finish my workload for this morning.”

“Geez, nice to know our two-hour lunch date isn’t going to dent the economy.” 

“Nah, the capitalists are safe.” 

“As always.” 

The elevator door finally opens to Armie’s floor and he stretches his hand forward so Timmy could step out before him. He takes a moment to look around and finds a sparse amount of desks across the hall, vibrantly decorated and with a lot of comfortable spots in every corner. They have bookshelves pushed to the wall, opposite to one another. There were lively paintings and other quirky decors that likely belonged to the employees than to the company. It makes their working space feel like their own and creates an atmosphere of familiarity. Timmy turns his head back to Armie who’s watching him. He gives him a wide smile, and Armie leads him towards his office. 

“Hey Jen,” Armie pauses in front of the desk by a large two-door entry. “This is Timothée.” 

Timmy moves to offer his hand. “Timmy is fine.” He smiles and Jen rises to her feet, shaking his hand. 

“Jenny,” she responds, dropping her hand. “French?” 

Timmy nods. “Half,” he clarifies. 

Jenny bobs her head in acknowledgement. “Nice to meet you, Timmy.” She says, then turns to her boss. “Off the grid for two hours, got it.” 

Armie smiles. “Yeah, you should catch a break too. This company would hold.” 

“I plan on it.” Jenny is already clearing her desk, then winks to Timmy. 

Timmy chuckles. “Nice to meet you, too.” 

Armie walks to the door of his office and opens it for Timmy who, for the sake of being cheeky and in reference to chivalry, curtsies before entering. He hears Armie chuckle behind him as he takes in the view of Armie’s workplace. 

It’s just about as Timmy expected, black and white and silver everywhere, modern but regal and minimalist. The windows are wrap-around, so the entire office is well-lit with natural lighting. There’s a massive desk by the window, and across the room directly opposite it were a leather couch and four armchairs, with a coffee table in the middle and gigantic bookshelves fixed on the wall. There’s also a long conference table at the far left and an enormous screen mounted on the wall. It’s an office straight out of Pinterest board of corporate CEO interior designs. 

Armie walks to the furniture, putting the bag on the table and taking out the contents. “How did you order my coffee?” He asks as he holds up his cup and reads the label. 

Timmy follows him and starts taking out the contents of his own paper bag. “I asked the barista for the sweetest coffee they serve and she suggests ‘the owner’s go-to drink’ and figured that’s you.” 

“I’m sort of conditioned to think that I need equal amounts of caffeine and sugar to function, but I’m sure that’s just a lie I tell myself.” Timmy laughs at Armie, who snickers back. “Oh wow, where did you get these? They look amazing.” Armie takes one of the containers, opening the lid and smelling the quiche. 

For some reasons, the admission came harder than Timmy thought. He could feel the heat on his cheeks so he made it look like it’s very important that he folds the paper bag as he replied “I cooked it.” 

“You cooked it.” Armie sounds like he unintentionally said it out loud as he processes the information rather than looking for clarification. 

Timmy hummed in affirmation, bending down to take off the lids of the other containers without meeting Armie’s stare that he feels on the back of his neck. 

The moment passed slower than Timmy expected, especially since Armie proved to be chatty with always a thing or two to quip. Timmy dares to chance a look and meets Armie’s eyes and sees the open affection and wonder. Before he knows it, Armie is putting down the quiche and reaching out to Timmy, who’s frozen where he stood because even though he’s already aware that the way Armie looks at him is a lot, this one is different, this one made the entire minimally decorated office feel cozy and his heart stutter in his chest. 

Armie’s arm effortlessly envelops Timmy’s shoulder in an embrace, his hand clutching Timmy’s shoulder. The action made Timmy’s pounding heart leap to his throat and when Armie’s stare dropped to his lips then back to his eyes Timmy would’ve sworn he felt his knees give out. Armie is thankfully strong enough to hold his melting body and pulls Timmy to his chest before catching his mouth in a searing kiss. 

Timmy had never really been a believer of the rom-com kiss. The perfect, explosive kind that the actors play out to seem like they’ve caught on fire. It’s when Armie holds his breath to finally press his mouth to Timmy’s that he thinks he understood the movies a little better now. As far as Timmy is concerned, _this_ is his first real kiss. Not to discredit all the other kisses he’s had, they have their charms, but Armie practically engulfed him in his lips. It was a full body sensation that started from where his heart dropped in his chest and spread all across his body. Timmy’s arms find purchase on Armie’s back, clutching at the back of his suit jacket. 

When they parted, Timmy heard himself gasp for some air, a little dizzy and cross-eyed. Armie literally kissed him stupid. 

“Hey you,” Armie is staring down at him with a smile. He hasn’t loosened his embrace so Timmy is still pressed flushed on his chest. 

Timmy’s daze slowly fades, his breathing starting to get back to normal. He huffed a laugh then buried his face in the crook of Armie’s neck. “Hey yourself.” He’s so tightly held that he feels the vibration on Armie’s body when he talks. 

“So…” Armie is definitely enjoying himself, his smile so evident in his voice that Timmy doesn’t even need to see it. “Lunch?” 

It didn’t seem like it would hurt to act like a needy child, so Timmy whines and cranes his neck back up, asking for a kiss. “One more,” he requests, closing his eyes when he feels Armie’s free hand moving to cup his jaw. Timmy moves up to kiss Armie but he presses his index finger on Timmy’s mouth, stopping him. Opening his eyes slightly to peer up at Armie, Timmy then rolls his eyes, ready to collapse back to Armie’s neck and put his entire body weight on the man when Armie raises his jaw back up, kissing him soundly. 

“We really should go back to lunch before this gets way out of hand.” Armie pecks on Timmy’s nose and chuckles when he scrunches it. He releases Timmy from his grip, who slides down on the armchair and slumps. 

“Not that I would mind, I’m just saying.” Timmy says, his arms resting on each side, his legs stretching out in front of him and going under the table. 

“All in good time.” Armie takes the fork and offers one to Timmy, who snatches it from him. Laughing, Armie adds “Come on! You spent time cooking all this. Let’s eat.” 

“Who taught you to be this big of a tease? I just want to _talk_.” 

Armie pelts him with a scrunched piece of napkin. “Eat your sliders, Timothée.” 

“My gosh, you have no business being this rude to me. I dressed up.” Timmy swats the piece of paper away from his stomach where it landed. He straightens in his chair while Armie moves to the couch. 

“And you look _very_ good, but I’m sure you already know that.” Armie taps the space next to him, motioning Timmy to join him on the couch. 

Picking up his own serving, he slips beside Armie on the couch, leaning to the other man’s shoulder. “I _better_.” He says, then picks up a slider and bites into it. “Good?” He asks as Armie takes a piece of quiche into his fork and eats it. 

Armie chews slowly, and Timmy sees the smile in his eyes before it forms on Armie’s lips. “Where’d you learn to cook this good?” He takes another piece of the quiche, feeding Timmy a bite. 

Timmy was too surprised to process the action, so he simply opened his mouth and received the food. “Our cook basically wrote down her recipes for me before I went to Juilliard. These are the ones I cooked most often because they don’t make it here like they do back home.” Timmy fixes the slider between his fingers then offers it to Armie, who eats it without missing a beat. 

Armie groans in appreciation, chewing through the slider. “What’s that?” He leans over to Timmy’s container. 

“Croque madame, but I turned it into sliders because it’s easier to pack.” Timmy answers and takes a bite on his own. 

“You cook often?” 

“Sort of? I do now, because I have better control over my time. During college though,” Timmy exhales loudly, recalling the immense workload. “I meal-prep then, since I barely even come up for air, or takeouts.” 

“Is this something that’s gonna happen often?” Armie pushes his luck, feeding a bite of quiche to Timmy. 

Timmy swallows his food and makes a show of running his tracing his teeth with his tongue. “If you’re good to me, maybe.” 

Armie is staring at him then smiles before leaning in to steal a kiss. Timmy tilts his head up, meeting him halfway. “I like this.” He tells Timmy when they break apart. “I like this a lot.” 

Reaching up to his cheek, Timmy says “Me too. I like us a lot, too.” Armie blushes and nuzzles into Timmy’s palm. 

They continued like that, snuggled and feeding each other bites of their food. Armie finds the salad some time later and tries to share the big serving with Timmy who only accepted twice before saying he doesn’t want to eat more vegetables. Surprisingly, the silence that fell over them after that wasn’t uncomfortable. Timmy didn’t feel like he’s crawling out of his skin and desperate to fill in with any sort of sound. He simply holds his coffee between his palms, sipping silently as Armie finishes the salad. He puts the container away when he’s done and stacks them together for easier clean-up. Timmy moves to help him clear out the table but Armie puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down to stay on the couch. 

“Let me clean up, it’s the least I can do.” He bends down to drop a kiss to Timmy’s forehead, and the warmth he only feels on his palm from the coffee spreads throughout his body. 

Timmy thinks he can get used to this. He’s yet to find out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.


	5. Chapter 5

The entire two hours of their lunch date felt like the slowest and fastest burn Armie has even felt in his life. They’re so madly attracted to each other that if anyone walked in his office they would’ve felt the electricity in the air. It didn’t help that Armie felt lightheaded and so full of butterflies from the moment he saw Timmy in the lobby and then lasted the entire day, because Timmy, on top of being devastatingly stunning,  _ cooked _ for him. Honestly, that alone right there would’ve melted Armie in a warm puddle where he stood. Timmy was visibly hesitant to admit it - though probably because packing what was essentially a picnic basket for a second date might be a lot for others - but it literally made Armie’s heart soar. Timmy took the time to prepare him food and brought it to his office for a two-hour lunch date and that same feeling of inadequacy that Armie felt when he first came face to face with Timmy was back in his gut and Armie  _ knew,  _ without a doubt, that he would bend over backwards just to keep Timmy happy. 

Which, if their lunch date was anything to go by, didn’t seem like it would be very hard. Timmy likes physical touch, that much Armie already suspected when he all but demanded for Armie to offer his arm as he walked him to his apartment during their first date. By the time they parted, Armie couldn’t have been more certain about anything other than that fact. Armie taking Timmy into his arms for what literally was the most earth-shattering first kiss Armie has had only set Timmy’s craving for physical touch in motion. He cupped Armie’s face, or rubs his forehead on Armie’s chest, shoulder, neck. He would drop a touch when he moved across, or would wrap an arm around Armie’s waist to move him so they don’t clash. They finished their coffee snuggled together, eating macarons and stealing kisses in between. 

There was talking, of course, because Timmy turned out to be really really interested in the company. It was easy to talk about because it’s practically his world, and hard all the same, because it steered the conversation to the change in leadership, from his stern and borderline authoritarian father to him, who made the company environment more agreeable and casual. He didn’t miss the admiration in Timmy’s eyes, but he’s always been tactful and dropped the subject when Armie started stumbling over his own words in an attempt to deflect compliments, because  _ that _ right there, was why he did it. Why he’s still doing it. People perceive it as such and accept it, not questioning  _ why _ it's like that when clearly it can be better and there are simply too many elites trying to keep the conditions that way. Armie does it because when people find out his company is not tyrannical, they become  _ surprised _ when it should be the  _ norm. _ The corporate world made itself as harsh as possible, knowing for a fact that people who want a place in it are disposable and those who cannot live it will have a long queue of younger, fresher people who’d like to try their hand on it. Armie didn’t want to keep this culture up. He wanted an environment where people  _ liked _ to work and liked being  _ there. _ The amount of dignity that corporations put on their employees is appalling, and Armie would like to have none of it. 

With any other, Armie would think it would be hard to get back around after laying such a sensitive part of himself out in the open, but Timmy kept smiling at him, kept looking at him with blunt adoration that Armie, though humbled, had sworn to never stop striving for. A ridiculous amount of making out followed that conversation, and at some point Timmy ended up on Armie’s lap, his knees on each side of Armie’s hips. It was all too easy to turn things up a notch, but they were on very limited time, even less at that point, so they eventually slowed down on their own without having to talk about it and Timmy settled back in his arms, snuggled. Their conversation picked up on a more mundane note. They talked about what their plans for the day was. Armie’s was obviously more work, and the two-hour break he asked for would definitely cost him so he’ll take some more work back home with him when his day ends, but Timmy didn’t have to know that. Besides, it was worth it. Timmy said he planned to visit a friend after their date, Saoirse, in her apartment. She’s in theater and Timmy wanted to run through a couple of compositions that she could use for her following auditions. Armie thought it was sweet and just another evidence that Timmy, despite the caliber of his education and sheer talent, would never be for gatekeeping. 

When their date ended, Armie risked a fifteen minute delay in his work so he could walk Timmy out of the building, standing with him on the pavement so they could wait together for a cab. Timmy laughed and insisted that Armie needed to get back to work, but he never tried to sound very convincing. Armie stood by Timmy, and they probably missed an empty cab or two with the rate that they were teasing instead of paying attention to the traffic, but neither of them minded.

“When am I seeing you again?” Armie asked, not giving a damn with the way he sounded. 

Timmy tilted his head, thinking. “Thursday night any good?” 

Armie winced. “Dinner meeting. Friday lunch?” 

“I can’t do Friday, as in any hour of it. There’s a dry run for a production.” Timmy looked over at him, worried. “We can attempt another of this two-hour lunch, I don’t mind.” 

Neither does Armie, but he can’t safely push back his work when the ones he pushed now aren’t done with. “I have to catch up, so I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’ll set me back and I probably won’t see the outside world for a bit.” 

Timmy was chewing on his lips by then. “Do you take a day off?” 

“I am off on Saturday, how about that?” Armie moved to put his hand on the small of Timmy’s back and rubbed circles reassuringly. 

Timmy melted into his touch and bumped his forehead on Armie’s shoulder before looking up “I  _ am _ free on Saturday, fucking  _ finally _ .”

Armie laughed. “Fucking  _ finally _ indeed, I thought we’re going to have to go through our schedules until next week.” 

“Would you mind?” Timmy teased, nudging Armie’s shoulder with his own. 

Armie couldn’t resist dropping a kiss to Timmy’s forehead. “Nope, I’d go through my schedule until we find something that works,  _ or  _ I’ll make it happen.” He looked down to meet Timmy’s eyes and Armie had to swallow because Timmy was positively brimming with delight. “And in the risk of me putting my foot into my mouth and derailing us, I’d like to say that while we’re pretty new, it’s been really intense, at least for me, and I like it. And I’d like to see where it’s going.” 

“Me too,” Timmy said breathlessly. “That’s exactly how I feel as well, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” 

Armie chuckled and teased Timmy, who blushed but retorted nonetheless. Now that it was out of the way, Armie and Timmy finally stopped putting things between them and getting Timmy a ride to his friend’s place. A cab finally stopped by and Timmy rushed to get in, obviously used to the typical cab-stealing, but made sure to pull Armie by his necktie -  _ fucking hot _ , by the way, Armie is definitely on board with that - and kissed him. 

So yeah, all in all Armie had a ridiculously good fucking day. It didn’t matter that Jenny was looking him up and down when he strutted back into their floor and then proceeded to dump him with a bunch of work they’ll have to catch up on. It didn’t matter that the meeting he attended at three in the afternoon was disorganized and ill-prepared for. His afternoon snack was mixed up with another person’s order and he ended up with a bland mixed tropical fruit bowl but Armie ate it anyway without a word of complaint. Viktor joined him as he was leaving the building and bugged him endlessly but Armie simply laughed good-naturedly and indulged his brother. 

“Damn,” Viktor says, smirking at him. “Lunch went  _ really _ well huh?” 

Armie acknowledges the question with a nod. “Wanna grab some dinner?” 

Viktor stops in front of the car door. “Jenny said you’re ‘so whipped and head-over-heels you might as well kiss the ground he walks on’ and that you’re about twenty minutes late because you  _ had _ to get him a cab.” 

“All true.” Armie shoves his brother playfully and climbs in the car. He tells the driver to take them to the diner they frequent during college. 

“What, that’s it?” Viktor settles next to him and closes the door. “No freak outs?” 

“Nope.” Shrugging out of his coat, Armie starts to roll his sleeves up and removes his tie. He unbuttons his shirt and leans back on the seat to get comfortable. 

“The one time it’s actually interesting is the time you choose not to talk.” Viktor comments, scowling at him. It’s true. Armie had a habit of going on and on about the dates he used to go to, whether they were good or bad. 

He laughs, eyes closing as he recalls their lunch date; the kisses, the cooking, the ridiculous cab-hailing. He feels a smile tugging at his lips and Viktor snorts. “I’ve got it pretty good, brother. I’ve got it good.” 

“No, you’ve got it  _ bad _ .” Viktor teased. “Like, I seriously don’t think I’ve ever seen you so infatuated.”

It was Armie’s time to snort. Of course he’d been infatuated before, he’d been infatuated so many other times that he shouldn’t really be believed when he says he liked a date, and Viktor, of all people, knew that. 

“No, not like this.” Armie opens his eyes to glance at his brother, who is shaking his head at him. “You’re not just excited or curious about something new. You’re  _ happy. _ ” 

Armie considers it. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He goes back to closing his eyes and thinks of Timmy. The effect is instant. A warm feeling blooms over his chest, his skin tingling with glee. 

“And him?” For the first time, Viktor drops the teasing. He actually sounded worried and tentative. 

“He says he feels the same way.” Armie chuckles to himself. 

“This one’s a good one.” Viktor finally replies after a beat. 

“The best one yet.” Armie agrees. 

They arrived at the diner and ate burgers and fries that would terrorize their doctors. Their driver got himself some tacos, because apparently he’s already watching his blood pressure. Viktor had finally let him off of talking about Timmy, for which Armie was grateful for, so he could just keep what they have to himself and relish in the warm happiness it brings him in peace. It doesn’t mean that Viktor isn’t thinking about it though, because in between bites and them talking about sports and cars, Armie could feel his brother glancing at him. Not that Armie could blame Viktor, really. He’s far too chirpy for someone who clearly had a long day at work and made no effort to deny that it was because of a certain French-American visitor. 

Viktor suggested pies for dessert, because if they’re eating unhealthy tonight they might as well finish strong. Armie didn’t even try to put up a fight and said he’ll have pecan. Their driver got a lemon pie and Viktor asked for apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Armie laughed, knowing that his brother would be working out with the added weight of his guilt the day after. They got served with their pies pretty quickly and the table was quiet after that, enjoying the indulgent treat. 

Armie’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. Viktor’s head whips quickly to his direction, ready to tease him. “It’s Liz.” Armie would be lying if he says he’s not disappointed that it wasn’t Timmy, but telling his brother off is a good enough deal. Besides, he has every intention of texting Timmy when he gets home. 

_ From: Liz  _

_ 6:38 _

_ i have given you enough time _

_ From: Liz _

_ 6:38  _

_ jenny said you cleared two hours for lunch and timmy came over!!! and viktor knew????  _

_ From: Liz _

_ 6:39 _

_ why does he get to know and i dont???? i introduced him to you!!! _

Armie blinks at the consecutive texts, then figures to simply reply to the last one. 

_ To: Liz _

_ 6:41 _

_ calm down geez. viktor came to my office this morning to give me shit bc you called him after you hung up on me during our date  _

_ From: Liz  _

_ 6:42 _

_ ok that was on me so sorry _

_ From: Liz _

_ 6:42 _

_ viktor said youre not talking about it all like you just give stupidly short answers  _

Armie glares across the table to Viktor and makes it look like Liz spilled something serious, just to give his brother shit. 

Jumping in his seat, Viktor flails his arms around, protesting. “What? I didn’t tell her anything I didn’t hear out of your mouth.” 

Armie keeps his glare and Viktor cusses at him. Laughing, Armie says “Nah, I’m just messing with you.” 

Viktor grumbles a bit and their driver chuckles. Armie chooses to ignore them. 

_ To: Liz _

_ 6:44 _

_ yup.  _

_ From: Liz _

_ 6:44 _

_ so thats how it is  _

_ From: Liz _

_ 6:45 _

_ im gonna call you  _

Armie is in the middle of typing his response to tell Liz that he’s in dinner with Viktor when her caller ID shows on his screen. Rolling his eyes, Armie swiped at his screen and answered. 

“An answer for an answer.” Armie immediately says into the line, interrupting whatever Liz is about to say. 

A moment passed, making Armie smile. Liz already talked to Timmy, it seems, and she’s hesitant because she  _ knows _ Armie would ask her to spill his side. “With the option to pass,” she compromises. 

Armie laughs, feeling like he scored. “Alright, go on, because I’m in the middle of dinner.” 

“Are you with Viktor? Why don’t you guys invite me anymore? This is so annoying.” Liz whines, then comes to her senses. “Wait! Don’t answer that. You’re going to be a smart-ass about this, I can already tell. That’s not my question.”

Armie breaks a piece of his pie and eats it. “Ask away.” 

“What do you think of him?” 

Leaning back on his chair, Armie carefully answers “I think you’re right in setting us up. We do get on very well.” 

“That’s about the best thing I’ll ever hear this week and I already know it.” Liz sounds way too pleased with herself. 

“Alright, eat it up, it’s my turn. What’s a specific thing you ask him?” It’s a bizarre way to put it, but Liz always had a knack for knowing what Armie really is asking so he trusts she understands what he means. 

Sighing, Liz replies “I asked him if he liked you as much as I heard you like him.” 

This one takes Armie by surprise, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his brother. Viktor raised a brow at him, askance. Armie shakes his head,  _ nothing _ , he relays. “Good things, I hope.” 

Liz didn’t have to answer, but maybe she’s feeling charitable. “The very good things only. This is one of the proudest moments of my life.” Armie didn’t bother to refute that. “So, any plans of running away?” 

Now,  _ this _ is the question he expects, and the way that his answer is immediately on the tip of his tongue simply solidifies the fact that this is  _ different _ . “None, never crossed my mind. I cleared my schedule when he asked for a lunch date knowing it’ll set me back by half a day worth of work. I already asked him out again. We’re meeting Saturday.” 

Liz allows a moment to pass before responding. “That’s your first full day off in three weeks.” 

“It is.” 

“And you’re spending it with Timmy.” 

“Yes.” Then Armie frowns, suddenly unsure. “Well actually, I don’t know if he’s free the entire day, but you get the idea.” 

“And if he is, you’d give him your entire day?” Armie could hear the smile in Liz’s voice. 

He thinks about it and quickly comes to the conclusion that it’s an opportunity he’d take without second thoughts. “I’d like that, yeah.” Feeling too bared, Armie adds “My turn. Allergies to flowers?” 

Liz barely contained her squeal, the beginning of it carried over through the line before she pushed it down. “None, none at all. I’m absolutely sure. I’ve seen him around flowers. Do you want a picture of him smelling a tulip? Fucking beautiful.” 

“So he likes them, at least?” 

“Yes, absolutely. That’s a… yup, do it. Yeah.” Liz is tripping over her words in giddiness. “Aren’t you at dinner? Eat your food, Armand.” 

Despite himself, Armie actually feels relieved that the phone call is over. God knows he wants to return to his pie. “Yup, thanks Liz.” 

Liz hums through the line, clearly wanting Armie to say more. 

Rolling his eyes, Armie expounds “Thank you, for forcing me to go. I’d…” He trails off, struggling to find the words until he meets Viktor’s eyes. “I’d turn out to be a sore fucking loser if I didn’t.” Viktor laughed. 

“Damn right, you would be. Take care of yourself, Armie. Someone’s expecting you on Saturday.” Liz hangs up with that, leaving Armie smiling at his phone. 

“No game on Saturday, then?” Armie cursed in his head, panicked, until he saw the look on Viktor’s eyes and realized he’s just teasing. “Hey, relax. It’s fine.” 

“Shit, did you get tickets already? It didn’t cross my mind, Viktor-” 

“Don’t sweat about it, really, please don’t.” Viktor is shaking his head continuously. “Armie, I haven’t met Timmy and I’m already willing to do sketchy favors if he asked. Tom and I could go. Right, Tom?” He claps their driver on the shoulder, who turns to him in disbelief. 

They launched into a discussion about the game, debating the teams’ season runs and statistics. Armie finishes his pie and gestures for their bill. Viktor tries to get it, but Armie swats his hand away and gestures to him to pay attention to his conversation with Tom. They didn’t linger in the diner long after that, as Armie still has a bunch of work he has to catch up to when he gets home. Viktor and Tom picked their conversation back up in the car while Armie decided to close his eyes and rest them. He listened to them, though the chat grew into a buzz as they went. Eventually, the car pulls up to their apartment building, and Armie claps Viktor on the back as the elevator goes through his floor. 

When Armie entered his own flat, he tossed his suit jacket and tie to the hamper and began setting up his laptop in the study. He walked over his decanter and poured himself a drink before sitting on his desk and getting to work. The entire bulk of his work is more tedious and taxing, and Armie feels his eyes closing at every page he turns. It’s just going to be something he’ll power through until it’s done, and definitely have to run over again in the morning because it’s finished with one of his eyes closed. By the time he turns in the last of it, Armie swears there are tears steaks on his cheeks from yawning so much. He stretches and leans back, fishing out his phone to check the time. 

It’s half past ten, and Timmy has sent him a message ten minutes ago. 

_ From: Timmy  _

_ 10:21 _

_ Caught up with your work? _

Armie instantly smiles. 

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:30 _

_ yes, finally. just turned in the last of it but ill have to check it again tomorrow  _

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:31 _

_ Is everything alright? _

Frowning, Armie straightens in his chair and reads the text again and again, as if that would force it to reveal the layers of Timmy’s message. He drafted a message twice over before simply deciding to ask Timmy pointblank, but his typing halted when another message came in. 

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:33 _

_ I hate to think that I’ve caused you unnecessary addition to your work.  _

After reading the message, Armie softens, his emotions reaching over to the boy who wears his heart on his sleeves and owns up to it, no matter what. 

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:34 _

_ if there ever comes a time when id say im inconvenienced because i spent time with you, someone needs to call the cops because thats not gonna be me  _

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:36 _

_ You sure?  _

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:36 _

_ absolutely. now forget about that and let me bug you about saturday. any plans?  _

Standing up, Armie begins to walk into his closet and takes out underwear and a bathrobe. He slings them over his shoulder when Timmy responds and he sits down on the ottoman at the foot of his bed, reading. 

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:39 _

_ Let’s see. What time do you want to meet?  _

_ To: Timmy  _

_ 10:40  _

_ im free the entire day.  _

Armie spent literally one second contemplating whether or not to send the quip in his head, then did it. 

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:40  _

_ you can have me when you want me  _

_ From: Timmy  _

_ 10:41  _

_ I might just hold you to that.  _

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:41 _

_ pls do _

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:42  _

_ All talk and talk.  _

Armie really had a full body response and ready to draw it out, but Timmy sent a message shortly after that. 

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:43  _

_ Is lunch okay? Today was at your workplace, how’d you feel about mine?  _

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:43 _

_ im down. address?  _

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:44 _

_ My apartment ;)  _

Armie barks out a laughter and shakes his head. He could get down with that. Timmy follows up the text with his floor and unit number. 

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:44  _

_ ill see you saturday lunch then _

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:45 _

_ You bet. Now catch some rest. It’s late.  _

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:46 _

_ wish id see you sooner  _

_ From: Timmy _

_ 10:46 _

_ It’ll be Saturday before you know it, though I do wish I can see you sooner, too. Good night, Armie x  _

_ To: Timmy _

_ 10:47  _

_ good night tim  _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more or less a filler chapter that I wrote because my brain won't shut up at 3am. As I keep mentioning, I still have final papers due on the 15th, and recently received a bunch of translation work (I do translation on the side; German to English, and as you can imagine with the German language, I'm about to go nuts sometimes.) That being said, this might be the last time I will be doing a 24 - 30 hours update interval. All the updates I will do from here on will be posted in around 3 business days, max. If we're lucky, I might pull off another 24 - 30 hour, but let's not hope too much. Love you all for leaving comments!

For a twenty-four year old, Timmy had his fair share of experiences in dating. After a trail of one puppy love after the other, he had his first mature relationship at eighteen, which was the best and worst time, because he was actually coming around to knowing himself, and worst because Michel was based in Paris while Timmy was set to move to the U.S for college. Their relationship witnessed so many flights back and forth to their continents that it’s responsible for the majority of the stamps on their passports, even if it’s been four years since. They broke up, but not without fighting tooth and nail for about a year and a half to hold everything together with more than five thousand kilometers between them. He’d gone out enough times after that, but careful in a way that his teenage self had never cared to be. It was by no means due to trauma from his relationship with Michel, it was an amicable split and they respect each other. Timmy grew up a lot in the time that he was in a long-term relationship, and following it, he’s decided that he’s not going to go around throwing out one body after another. From college up to this day, he’s made meaningful relationships with people he’s gone out with along the way. For most part, they’re still in touch, or at least parted on good terms. Of course, he didn’t have a hundred percent success on that, but still, he has a pretty solid track record. His heart got broken a fair amount of times then; the other party changing their minds, going back to an ex, cheating, falling out, getting fucking ghosted, but in hindsight, not major heartbreaks that devastated him for months on end and left him aching for years. 

Timmy has a feeling that if by whatever trick fate might pull on him and this thing with Armie doesn’t work out, it’s going to be  _ that _ relationship. Maybe he’s reading too much into it too soon, but he also can’t recall ever being  _ this _ invested so early into the relationship. Timmy can’t imagine just how busy Armie is, especially that it’s up to him to hold an entire company together, and though he doesn’t have a similarly massive responsibility, Timmy has work lined up one right after the other. The texts keep coming, starting from a good morning message, because apparently Armie is one of those guys awake as early as six. The interval between is reasonable for two adults with jobs, but they still do get to have full conversations. So yeah, even though they have no way of meeting after their quick lunch date, Timmy doesn’t feel entirely cockblocked by the universe, because they get to use this time apart to get to know each other better. 

It doesn't help with Timmy’s overall smitten state that Armie is shamelessly clingy. He would ask to know what Timmy is up to out of the blue, or try to get his opinions on random things. They manage to sneak in a FaceTime here and there and Timmy gets overwhelmed every time they finish because he can see up close how Armie looks at him, focused and attentive, admiring and affectionate. It scares him, if he’s being honest, because he has no idea what Armie sees, he has no idea what it is that he does that earns him those looks, and if they stop coming, Timmy would definitely be able to tell, and he would be left with no idea how to bring it back. If the rate that Armie is going is anything to go by, Timmy is positive his fears will not be actualized any time soon. Other times, Armie asks for just pictures or short videos, not even necessarily of Timmy, but of whatever he’s doing. So far, Timmy has sent him clips of him cooking or playing an instrument. He also sent pictures of a painting he’s working on, and some other sketches that he did on his downtimes. Armie sends pictures of his own, though a more predictable one given his work. What Timmy loved receiving were pictures that Armie takes of himself with silly, exaggerated expressions to show his exhaustion, disgust, impatience, boredom, or really, whatever else he might be feeling at a given moment. 

By the time that Armie sends him a good night text, there is hardly any more time left in a day that could still ruin Timmy’s mood. And they haven’t even ventured into naughtier territories. Which is probably for the better. Timmy wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he’s receiving messages that make him melt or spontaneously combust three seconds apart from each other.

So yeah, if, by any chance, this thing with Armie doesn’t work out in the end, Timmy would really be fucking devastated. He might even hold a grudge against the universe. 

_ From: Armie _

_ 9:20 _

_ tell me we’re still on for tomorrow at lunch and you’re not sick of me yet _

Timmy has paint in his hands which he’s not sure if completely dry but he picks up his phone anyway. 

_ To: Armie _

_ 9:21 _

_ Still on. I can’t wait to see you.  _

He puts down the brush and wipes his hands. The painting is coming along, but it can wait. 

_ From: Armie  _

_ 9:22 _

_ see me now. facetime?  _

Timmy laughs, glancing over himself at the mirror across. It won’t be the first time that Armie would see him in a less put-together state, but this one’s a different kind. Still, it’s not like he could smear Armie with paint through the screen, so he figures it doesn’t matter that he looks like he went two rounds of painting with kindergartens. 

He calls Armie, setting the phone to stand against a spare easel that he pulled to his side. Armie picks up almost immediately. He’s still in his shirt, though unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up, but at least it looks like he’s home in his study and probably finishing some work. 

“Hey! Oh wow, it’s bright as daytime over there.” Armie says, leaning close to the screen and looking at Timmy. “This is a new look, I like it.” 

Timmy mock-glares at him. He owns a mirror and he can see that he looks like a poodle left unsupervised with a three year old kid that happens to hold a crayon. His hair is not long enough to be tied up so when he did the strands mostly just fell back around his face. There are paint smears and splatters on his face, down his neck, but his torso is the worst. His white shirt has paint blots that Timmy cannot explain how he got, and his arm has streaks of brushstrokes in varying sizes. 

“That’s a weird taste.” Timmy comments and picks up his brush. “What are you doing?” 

“Sorting backlogs, all the fun stuff.” Armie leans back on his chair and closes a folder he’s holding. “Please do go on, don’t be shy.” 

Timmy turns to look at Armie, questioning. “I can’t believe I’m being objectified in my own home.” 

“I just like watching you work!” Armie says between laughter. “What’s a man gotta do so you can draw me like one of your French girls?”

Putting his face into his palm, Timmy laughs at Armie’s never ending absurdity. “Oh my God, Armie.” He turns to his phone to look at Armie who looks too proud of himself. “I don’t know, you tell me. What’s on offer?” 

Armie purses his lips, thinking. His hands disappear from the screen and Timmy hears him fumbling through his drawers. When Armie shows his hands back, there’s a silver chain going around his palms and back, then wrapping around his wrists. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “You like?” 

“Only that?” Timmy plays along, though he can feel the heat rising from his neck and to his cheeks. 

“It’s on offer, yes.” Armie is still holding his chained hands up and Timmy is torn between throwing a canvas at him and doing literally anything Armie wants. “So? Do I get myself a deal?” 

Timmy is biting the insides of his cheeks hard. “Hard to tell over the phone really. I might need to look at you up close to be able to tell.” 

“That can totally be fixed in…” Armie trails off, finally getting his ridiculously chained hands out of the screen and reaching over his desk to check the time. “Less than 15 hours.” 

“That’s very much acceptable.” Timmy internally breathes out a sigh of relief. There’s something about Armie that makes him feel utterly virginal, like he’s never been in situations like this before and did a bunch of… questionable things, so to speak. 

“I’ve missed you a lot.” Armie blurts out, putting his chin on his palm and staring at Timmy. 

Timmy’s breath stutters and he couldn’t stop the smile forming on his lips even if he tried. This is exactly what he was thinking about. It’s outrageous that Armie goes from teasing him to being  _ this _ earnest. The switch between sexual innuendos and cuddly behavior would be dangerous for his poor heart. “I miss you too,” he replies, unable to control his body as he goes limp on his stool. 

“Even if I bug you all day everyday?” Armie doesn’t look entirely worried about it, just dragging things along so he can keep acting cute. 

Timmy looks at himself on the corner of the screen. He looks undeniably floored, with a bunch of paint splatters for extra flavor of being an absolute mess. “Please never stop.” He absolutely means it, but he at least makes himself look teasing so he could save some face. 

“Not planning on it.” 

“Good.” They smile at each other, and Timmy doesn’t have to look to know that he has the same dreamy look in his eyes as Armie. “Did you arrive at a compromise with that difficult client?” 

Armie picks up another folder and flips through it. “Yeah speaking of those guys, real piece of work.” He mutters under his breath, off-handed. “I think we’re going to need to call for another meeting with them, preferably with Viktor this time just to even out the playing field. They keep on backing me up against the wall.” 

“Isn’t it better to sort it out as soon as possible?” Timmy asks as he returns to his painting. 

He hears Armie click his tongue before talking. “Maybe. Actually no. For sure it’ll be better to get it over with as soon as possible, but I want a break, or this company is rolling its CEO on a stretcher. I’m always so close to popping an artery, I swear to God.” 

Timmy laughed, then twisted his torso to glance at Armie. “Do you want to eat out for lunch tomorrow, or I’ll cook us lunch?” 

“Won’t that be such a bother? I mean, you cooking.” Armie is looking at him with uncertainty. 

Timmy shakes his head. “Never if it’s you.” 

Armie instantly perks up, blushing a bit and thoroughly pleased. “I can come earlier and help around with cooking.” 

“And you’re not just saying that to see me sooner?” Timmy feels way less confident than he sounds, but it wouldn’t hurt to tease. 

“That is absolutely correct. I really want to see you, Timmy.” Armie all but whined, slumping on his chair. 

“That long a day, huh?” Any effort to suppress a smile has dissolved. Timmy is just openly grinning now even as he paints. 

“It’s a long  _ week _ .” Armie replies. “If I see someone from the office tomorrow on my day off, excuse me but I’ll jump off a bridge.” 

Timmy looks back to Armie who’s massaging his temples. “Tell me your comfort food.” 

Armie opens his eyes, disoriented. “Huh?” 

“Your comfort food. What is it?” Timmy repeats, putting down the brush and turning his full attention on Armie. “I’ll make it tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to, though.” Timmy holds Armie’s gaze and sees as the other man slowly smiles, bashful, then licks his lips and looks down. “So? What is it?” 

Armie purses his lips. “Chicken and waffles. And potatoes. Literally any kind. Fries, chips, mashed potato.” He takes the phone and moves to an armchair. Timmy chuckles at the answer and Armie catches him before joining in. “How American is that?” 

“Just the right kind.” Timmy answers. 

“For returning of favor purposes, what’s  _ your _ comfort food?”

“Aligot and ham.” 

Armie makes a small noise. “Why does that make sense so much?” 

“What do you mean?” Timmy takes a moment to think about every mannerism he has so he can get where Armie is. 

“I don’t know! You said it and my brain just went, ‘ah yeah, definitely.’” 

“So we’re at that point now, huh?” With the way Armie snaps to look at him, Timmy can already tell that the other man knows he’s testing the waters. 

“Yup,” Armie pops the word for emphasis. “We could go around tomorrow if you want to. Act like absolute tourists and crowd into the hottest spots.” 

“You know what, I’d actually like that.” Timmy says, thinking about his first year in New York when he went to the famous places and didn’t enjoy a second of it. “I had terrible first experiences in a lot of popular places here.” 

“It’ll be terrible the second time around.” Armie assures him gleefully. “But, you’ll be with me and we’ll suffer together. Don’t worry, we can totally sneak into the bathroom and make out for five minutes and then go sightseeing again.” 

Timmy laughs heartily. “I’m sold.” 

“I hope you’re ready for cheap New York hotdogs.” 

“Ah yes, the flavor of my college.” 

“Wait, no shit?” Armie straightens in his chair, interested. 

Timmy chuckles. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Especially between classes? Fuck, I’d grab one on the way and just sprint while I eat. My life was so ugly as a college student. I’m glad we didn’t meet then. I’m no better than the rats.” 

“Happens to the best of us, don’t worry. I didn’t peg you for the type though. I thought like, maybe some toast-” Armie got interrupted by a call alert coming from his desk. “Oh my God, no. Timmy I’m going to cry, like, I’d really bawl my eyes out.” 

“Why, who’s calling?” Timmy asks, pausing his work to watch Armie be overdramatic. 

Armie is walking over his desk, the phone held up to his face. “It’s nearly ten, what the hell do you want from me?” He asks as he leans over. “Shit, different time zones. I hate this. It’s dad’s old partner. Why am I dealing with this before bedtime?” 

“Armie,” Timmy calls and waits until Armie’s eyes are on him before speaking. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll cook you waffles and chicken with potatoes. You’ll get through that.” 

Armie visibly softens, the creases on his brows relaxing as his lips move into a smile. “You’re my absolute favorite, I want you to know that.” 

Timmy smiles back, just as wide. “You’re my favorite, too. Now go be a CEO.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Armie repeats, like he’s assuring them both. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Timmy agrees, and the call ends there. 

Timmy turns to look at his painting, and then slips from his stool and down on the floor, barely stopping himself from squealing. Whatever it was in his past life that earned him an Armie fucking Hammer acting cute on him for one week straight with no signs of stopping must have been really big and important. This has been the best week his dating life has ever seen, and they’re just getting started. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry I had to split this one, I'll put up the other half in Armie's POV in 18 hours tops, still within my 3 business days deadline, yeah?

Would you look at that, tomorrow is finally today. Timmy showered after his morning coffee, not really feeling like eating solid so soon after waking up. If he groomed _everywhere_ , then that’s his business, and only because he liked to keep clean and smooth. Armie’s good night text came quite late last night, around past midnight, so Timmy assumes he’d be sleeping in today as he should. In the meantime, because he’s absolutely head over heels for Armie, he decides to prepare tiramisu. Over the week that they’ve only been chatting through text and FaceTime, following their lunch date where Timmy first thought Armie had a sweet tooth, now he realized that apparently he has no idea. He eats them in moderation at least, or gets fruits instead if he’s feeling guilty, but Armie literally reaches out to sweet treats after a stressful inconvenience, which as anyone could imagine is often given his work. Armie even likes his coffee ridiculously sweet, hence why Timmy thought to make tiramisu. After a bout of overthinking, he also prepared a bowl of mixed berries, just so Armie could live a little healthier today if he’d choose it. 

Putting the tiramisu into the fridge, Timmy moves to the counter to check on his emails. He has projects lined up, but thankfully with generous intervals. He’ll definitely be busy next week, though just the healthy amount. Honestly, he’s hoping they’ll be luckier this time. Maybe they could squeeze in two dates next week, at least Timmy’s schedule looks like it can handle that. It will all be left up to Armie then, and Timmy doesn’t dare to get his hopes up. 

_To: Saoirse_

_8:51_

_Sersh, Armie’s coming over for lunch._

It’s the perfect amount of being pathetic, which is exactly how he feels. 

_From: Saoirse_

_8:53_

_Don’t combust._

_To: Saoirse_

_8:54_

_I can’t guarantee it. I made him tiramisu on top of cooking him lunch later._

_To: Saoirse_

_8:54_

_Actually he says he’ll come over earlier than lunch so he can help me cook. It’s just chicken and waffles anyway._

_From: Saoirse_

_8:56_

_Oh my God? Really? And then?_

_To: Saoirse_

_8:57_

_Yeah, then we’re going out to bum around the city._

_To: Saoirse_

_8:57_

_I feel so out of my depth. What the hell am I doing?_

_From: Saoirse_

_8:58_

_What do you mean?_

_From: Saoirse_

_8:59_

_Because in my opinion you guys are pretty disgustingly cute if the way you talk about him is anything to go by._

_To: Saoirse_

_8:59_

_Geez, thank you._

_From: Saoirse_

_9:00_

_You’re welcome. So what’s the matter?_

Timmy blinks at the screen, reading the message. That’s a loaded question. Well, let’s see. Timmy’s never really been big on playing by the usual “dating rules” like waiting three days to call or no sex on the first date or whatever else. The tricky thing about that is when the guy he’s seeing _is_ big on the dating rules that Timmy cheerfully ignores. He doesn’t really know where cooking for your date on two consecutive occasions falls into that spectrum. And then, there goes Armie, who’s _a lot_ , because he’s so fucking good looking, on top of being so fucking tall and just the perfect built, and on top of being so fucking adorable and generous. It’s not like Timmy has never been with ridiculously handsome men, or men who are nice and charming, but generally what are the chances of those two being the same man, and _then_ interested in Timmy? Pretty slim, if you’d ask him. He’s had one or the other, both if he’s lucky, only for them to become uninterested pretty soon. 

Liz is an absolute treasure though. She may or may not have let it slip that Armie was really, really into him, in a way that he has never been with anyone in a while. Into him enough that Liz had a tinge of worry when she was gossiping with Timmy, and only dissolved when she was quite sure he’s as taken by their date as Liz heard Armie was. That was a great consolation at least. It assures him that he’s not losing this anytime soon, provided that he doesn’t mess up. 

Timmy is calling it now. He’s going to be absolutely in love with Armie before the month ends. He’s even finished a piece on the piano over three nights just thinking about Armie. And now he’s coming over, and maybe Timmy is freaking out, because in the span of the couple of days that they’ve been apart the buzzing interest he has during their two dates has now fully turned into absolute certainty that Timmy will go down on this hill of worshipping Armie, or something like that. 

_To: Saoirse_

_9:05_

_Nothing at all. I might be a little in love with him already._

_From: Saoirse_

_9:06_

_Yeah? Like I don’t already know that? I bet you shaved._

_To: Saoirse_

_9:06_

_You offend me. I’m blocking your number now._

_From: Saoirse_

_9:07_

_I love this song!!!_

Timmy laughs, but decides against replying. Instead, he moves back to the kitchen to prepare the rest of their lunch. He whips up the waffle batter pretty quickly and puts it aside. Then, he took the potatoes from the basket in the corner of his kitchen counter and spent a good twenty minutes on his phone, trying to decide what to do with them. He’s looking at crisps, which are tempting because they’re so simple, but he personally doesn’t feel like having them right now. On the other hand he could do fries, but that’s a quick pass in his head, and an even harder one on aligot. Honestly, he’s never bothered making it himself. It’s a comfort food because when he’s at home he has someone else serve it to him with the most important addition of getting coddled like a child. Hasselback potatoes look good, and he wastes another ten minutes looking at different recipes for it. Before he could decide, his phone vibrates as messages from Armie come in. 

_From: Armie_

_9:44_

_hi good morning_

_From: Armie_

_9:44_

_i received a call earlier and i had to go into an impromptu conference call. do you know how hard it is to pull off a corporate look when youve just woken up and looked like you went five rounds with an angry dumpster racoon?_

_From: Armie_

_9:45_

_[see attached image]_

_From: Armie_

_9:46_

_[see attached image]_

The first couple of seconds reading Armie’s texts were confusing, but the man literally woke up to a meeting on his day off, so Timmy didn’t bother him. Instead, he opens the first attachment, which appears to be an accidental shot with the front camera given how blurry it was. It’s taken from the angle way under his chin, maybe in the middle of texting while sitting down, and he’s right. He did look like he went rounds with a racoon. Timmy could at least make out that he’s in a white tank top, regretfully it’s too shaken to see his muscles but they’ll get there so he didn’t mourn so much, his hair half standing up and the other half flat on his head, the rest of his expression in deep scowl. Timmy laughs and coos a bit, even if Armie couldn’t see him. The next photo was interesting, to say the least. It’s still a selfie, taken from over his head so his entire torso was seen and a bit of his thighs which are absolutely bare and disappeared under his desk. Timmy would think Armie was teasing if the entire scenario hadn’t been as comical as it was. Timmy remembers the suit jacket and shirt from yesterday and he laughs again. It’s so silly, and a part of him feels bad for Armie too, but it’s all too endearing that Timmy’s chest clenches. 

_To: Armie_

_9:48_

_Still a good morning?_

_To: Armie_

_9:48_

_That suit looks familiar, have I seen it?_

Pretty much Timmy has lost his train of thought the moment Armie’s text came to his screen, so when he opens his tabs again, the last page he has opened for a recipe becomes the winner. He’s following that now, it’s a done deal. 

_From: Armie_

_9:49_

_yup bc im still seeing you this lunch_

_From: Armie_

_9:49_

_nope, it’s a new one, definitely not worn yesterday._

_To: Armie_

_9:50_

_What time are you getting here? I can’t wait to see you._

_From: Armie_

_9:51_

_wait youre right im gonna go get ready ill be there probably 11?_

_From: Armie_

_9:52_

_thats me being super optimistic_

Timmy shakes his head fondly. He wonders how easily distracted Armie could be, then figures he can just find out in a bit if he’s patient. 

_To: Armie_

_9:52_

_See you._

Because he’s on an indecisive and overthinking streak today, Timmy walks into his wardrobe to stare at himself long enough that he gets convinced that he hates how he looks. He’s in a white turtleneck that he would later layer with a coat when they go out, and clearly his mind has changed because now he doesn’t really agree that it fits him well. If anything, he looks skinnier than he actually is, which is pretty skinny. Something about it looks sickly now, like his neck is in a brace or something. The thought made Timmy laugh, and it doesn’t take any more than that for him to finally take the hem of the turtleneck and pull it over his head. He tries to go through his clothes as calmly as possible, because he likes to stay organized, and definitely not because he’s expecting someone to come over and he’s thinking maybe he’ll get lucky. 

Timmy sighs and wills his mind to focus on getting himself dressed back up before he digs himself into a bigger hole. He finds a teal cashmere sweater that looks casual and comfortable. Taking the hanger, Timmy puts it over his torso to see how it looks, and decides he likes the color because it makes him look alive. Timmy puts it on and tucks in the hem into his dark jeans because he wants to cut the slightly oversized look. He stands in front of his mirror some more, and then opens his drawers to look for accessories. At first, he was content with the silver necklace he found, but then his plain black satin choker gets moved into his vision so he wears it too, just to be a little shit. When he stands back in front of the mirror, he feels much better about his reflection and walks back to the kitchen before he could change his mind. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and throws on an apron. At most, Armie would probably arrive when he’s frying, which Timmy doesn’t mind. It’s not like their lunch is such a hardship to make anyway. So he opens the recipe on his phone and starts working on the hasselback potatoes. 

As is typical with a lot of potato recipes, the actual cooking takes longer than the preparation. Barely any of his energy was spent on it before he’s putting the potatoes in the oven. He takes the chicken out of the fridge by then, and for some reason couldn’t resist poking the meat soaked in buttermilk. He washes his hands immediately after so he could move to seasoning and coating the chicken. It’s bound to get messy from here despite Timmy’s knack for staying neat in the kitchen, but he gets through the dusting of flour, starch and spices. He closes his eyes every now and then, knowing full well that the sneeze he thinks is coming will not actually. While the oil is heating, Timmy takes a towel and starts wiping his kitchen counter and cleaning after himself. It’s practically a breeze by now, just waiting and waiting since he’ll just be dumping chicken in oil and pouring batter into the waffle maker. 

When the doorbell finally rings, Timmy is taking out the first batch of chicken from the fryer and decides to turn it off before answering the door, because it’s New York. You never know. It’s twelve past ten now, and he instantly smiles. For all he knows, it could be Armie. If it’s him, Timmy bets he literally just showered and bolted out of his apartment. Timmy paused in front of his door to take a deep breath then pulled it open. Instead of looking directly at Armie’s face, there’s a bouquet of red roses wrapped in a single black paper in his line of sight, held directly between him and Armie.

Timmy bites his lips hard and blushes all over. There’s an entire screaming in his head while his heart skips a beat and restarts in an irregular rhythm that he thinks couldn’t be good or healthy, but he still forces himself to talk even if it’s a struggle when he’s smiling so much. “Armie?” 

The bouquet was moved quickly away between them like it was snatched and Armie’s face finally showed, feigning suspicion. “Are you expecting someone else?” 

Timmy actually giggles, putting his hands on each side of his face because he’s so flustered and has lost all sense of what to do with himself. “Jesus Christ, warn a guy.” 

“We seem to be alternating on that when we go on dates. I’ll take you like it?” Armie is staring down at him, pleased. 

Timmy looks back at Armie then reaches over to the back of his head, pulling Armie into his apartment and crashing their lips together. “You really should slow down on sweeping me off my feet like this. What if I get used to it?” He mutters. 

“Nope, not happening.” Armie is holding him to his chest by the waist and Timmy thinks he’d be content to stay like this, kissing and cuddling and being absolutely adorable. “Flowers?” 

Timmy’s head falls on Armie’s shoulder and he chuckles, before taking the bouquet and reaching up to Armie to kiss him again. “Thank you,” he figures he should say something more, but when he meets Armie’s eyes he just feels himself blushing again so he hides half of his face into the flowers. “Yeah,” he follows up weakly. 

“Aw, Timmy.” Armie coos, kissing his forehead. “This is the best I’ve felt in a long while.” He says under his breath like an off-handed comment. 

Swinging his arms around Armie’s neck, Timmy pulls him down again for another kiss, and another, and another, until Armie’s hands rub from his lower back to his shoulder and he groans, making Timmy’s head fall backwards. He’s already going a little cross-eyed, and Armie’s nosing up, down and around his throat and it takes his last remaining brain cell to mentally regroup, because they have chicken and waffles to cook. 

Timmy sighs, moving his head against Armie’s and kissing his cheek. “Cooking?” 

Armie actually huffs into Timmy’s neck and laughs. He takes Timmy’s face into his hand, before moving to trace the choker around his neck. “Raincheck,” he comments, and steps back, letting go of Timmy altogether. The distance between them clears out Timmy’s head a bit, but he still takes a moment to count one to ten and then back so he could check his mental functions. “You sure this is not a payback for when I stopped making out with you on our last lunch date?” 

“Nope,” Timmy belatedly registers that he’s twisting his torso slightly from side to side so he stands on one foot, his hips jutting out. He feels like a teenager all of a sudden. Armie makes a disbelieving sound, making Timmy laugh. “I’d kiss you all day if I could, but - Armie get that look off your face-” Timmy bursts out laughing, because Armie actually looks like he’d risk it all _again,_ just like he did when he found out Timmy did ballet. 

Perfectly aware of his own expression, Armie joins Timmy, laughing and reaching over to wrap his arm around Timmy’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know, lead the way.” Timmy moves them towards the kitchen, but Armie tightens his grip around his shoulder, stopping him. “One more though.” 

Timmy cranes his neck up automatically, meeting Armie in a quick kiss. “There, now let’s cook. I don’t even think you’ve had breakfast.” 

Armie scrunches his nose. “I had two liters of water though.” 

Timmy snorts and pulls away. He points to the fryer. “Turn it back on. I’ll just get a vase for this.” 

They fell into a calmer rhythm after that, thankfully, because the current between them is too strong that Timmy knows for a fact that it’ll come alive with very minimal effort. Armie watches over the chicken and talks mindlessly about the calls he received the night before and the one this morning. Timmy can barely follow all the corporate nuances, but he listens anyway and hums and asks questions every now and then. When the potatoes were done, Timmy pauses on his waffle making to take them out. Armie is borderline overjoyed when he sees the hasselback potatoes, and again puts a hand to his chest like he’s touched. Timmy glances at him and shakes his head. They’re both smiling so much, and Timmy feels so light and happy and content. He sets it aside after putting cheese and bacon on it, then stops by to kiss Armie again before returning to the waffles. 

Armie speaks, and it takes Timmy’s breath away. “I can get used to this.” 

“We’ll do this a lot then.” Timmy agrees, his cheeks just as warm as his heart is making him feel. 

There hadn’t even been a significant shift in the air around them which Timmy would’ve expected. Instead, they returned to chatting about anything and everything while they prepared their lunch. The entire thing is so domestic and soothing; Timmy moving around to set their table while Armie takes out the last batch of chicken and puts them on the rack. They go around each other in the kitchen with ease. Just to be cheeky, Timmy takes his vase of red roses and places it in the middle of the table as Armie fetches the chicken and waffle from the counter. 

When Armie is finally walking over the table, he stops and bends down a bit in laughter before setting the plates down and reaching around Timmy’s waist. “Aw, is my French guy going all the way with the sleazy diner experience?” 

Timmy isn’t even sure if he heard the rest of the sentence right. His brain stuttered when Armie called him _his guy_. “You do know we’re not even half as fancy, right?” 

“A man can dream.” Armie shrugs and pecks on Timmy’s lips. 

Timmy looks over and chuckles. “Alright then,” he simply says and breaks away from the embrace to serve the bowl of mixed berries. “What’d you like to drink?” 

“Beer sounds good.” Armie answers as he meets Timmy halfway and takes the bowl from his hands. 

Personally, Timmy doesn’t like beer with tiramisu, so he says it. “I made us tiramisu-” Timmy didn’t even finish his sentence before Armie turned his entire body back to him, surprised. “So, beer?” 

Armie shakes his head and sets the bowl down on the table. He leans back against it, facing Timmy. “Just water then.” Timmy’s chest constricts and it’s the best kind of ache, because Armie is looking at him again in the same way that makes Timmy’s skin feel new. 

“I’ll…” He points to the kitchen with his thumb, unsure. He doesn’t want to step out of Armie’s gaze, but at the same time it’s overwhelming, and Timmy wishes he can grip on the kitchen island and just _breathe_ because he can’t seem to manage his own weight on his significantly weakening knees. 

“Take the water or tiramisu?” Armie supplies, grinning in a way that indicates that he’s pretty pleased with himself. 

“We’ll see if I can manage, I’m about to melt on the spot, Armie.” Timmy bluntly answers and laughs at himself. Armie walks over to him then and they go to the kitchen together. Timmy has never had anything like this before; so perfect and certain but terrifying. He can’t help but to look at Armie who takes the water as Timmy passes it to him. Timmy knows, intellectually he’s very aware, that what’s going to come out of his mouth might break the moment for good, but it’s all too good to be true, and maybe he’s having a minor freak out. “God, I don’t know how anyone would ever agree to let you go when you act like _this_.” 

Instead of throwing in a punchline or sweet talking his way to avoid it, Armie’s face softens, fixing Timmy on the stop with an earnest gaze. “I’ve never had anything like this before, Timmy.” The way he says it leaves no room for doubt, not with himself or Timmy. “And I know it’s probably not going to help my case, but none of them had me this way. Not in the way that _you_ do.” 

If anyone could see them right now, it’s definitely going to be one of the most confusingly romantic moments they’ll see in their lives. Armie’s hands are on the bottom of the pitcher, holding it to his lower stomach. Standing across him is Timmy, carrying tiramisu with the freezer door open behind him. They’re looking at each other, vulnerable and intimate, and Timmy moves first, kicking the door close behind him. He shoves his forehead into Armie’s shoulder and the older man just laughs and scratches the top of Timmy’s head. 

“I’m sorry if I’m overthinking things.” Timmy murmurs, his voice muffled because he’s still resting his head on Armie. He feels Armie’s hand move from his hair to his cheek, cupping it until Timmy looks up and meets his eyes. 

“I assure you, we’re both equally overwhelmed. I understand exactly where you’re coming from, so don’t ever apologize.” Armie’s eyes falter for a moment and he worries his lips. A nervous tick, Timmy realizes. “Unless you…?” 

Timmy gravely regrets the beat that passed before it occurs to him that Armie is asking if he’s not in it with him. Armie actually looks alarmed and panicked, making Timmy speak in a rush. “No, no. I want to…” He vaguely gestures with his hands, as much as it would allow him as he’s still holding their dessert. “I’m not asking to stop or slow down or whatever. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

Armie breathes out, relieved. “Okay,” he chuckles nervously and licks his lips. 

Timmy tiptoes to kiss him soundly, and Armie returns it gratefully. “Let’s get back to our lunch, yeah?” They hold each other’s gaze and laugh before walking back to the table side by side. 

The flowers are enormous and they could barely see each other if they sit across the table. So Armie rearranges everything and sits next to Timmy, making sure to steal a kiss before they start eating. He’s pretty proud of himself, even if everything was pretty simple. The chicken is perfectly seasoned, the waffles are tasty, and he thinks he could get by with just the hasselback. They’re both hungrier than they thought, and Armie pretty much didn’t talk after the first bite and slid down his chair a bit. He kisses Timmy on the forehead, telling him he got so lucky to land a date with him. Timmy tries to play it cool, as much as a prominent flushed cheek would allow him, and teases Armie back. 

They fall back into the same easy conversation that seems to come naturally for them since day one. Timmy enjoys it, _basks_ in it even, and this time, he has a different thrum under his skin, one that hadn’t been present the previous times. There has been a verbal confirmation that their relationship is _mutually_ new to them in more ways than one. At this point, Timmy almost feels silly for letting his doubts and insecurity eat up at him, especially now that he’s staring at Armie and finally _sees_ the sheer authenticity of his smiles and laughter and the honesty in his blurted compliments and automatic body language. The magnitude of their attraction towards each other shakes Timmy to his core because he knows, with every logical evidence and explanation, that Armie is not any less affected as he is. To be certain of something so new makes Timmy feel a bit dizzy. If, for whatever reason, this ends, Timmy knows he’ll take the weeks, the months, or years, literally any time frame that he might get, and should anyone ask, he’d do it all over again and again, with no remorse or thought for his heart. 

“So,” Timmy begins as they move the plates away, the waffles and chicken devoured completely. Armie has moved to the potatoes while Timmy pops three berries at a time into his mouth. “Comforted?” 

Armie puts his fork down and opens his arms and Timmy automatically moves into Armie’s chest, enjoying the embrace. He feels Armie drop a kiss on the top of his head and he sighs, contented. “Very much. Thank you, really. I don’t remember the last time someone’s done something like this for me.” The admission came along with the tightening of his grip around Timmy, so he abandons his chair and moves to Armie’s lap instead to return the embrace. 

“You’re very, very welcome.” Timmy drops a kiss on Armie's nose and he had the audacity to pout, so Timmy leans down to kiss him full on the lips. 

Sighing into his mouth, Armie slowly opens his eyes and caresses Timmy’s cheek with his hand. “The things I’d do for you.” He pulls him down for another kiss and embraces him to bury his face on the crook of Timmy’s neck. 

“What about the things you’d do to me?” Timmy feels Armie’s breath stutter before he hears it, the arms wrapped around him instinctively tightening. 

Pulling away, Armie looks at Timmy with a mischievous glint in his eyes and Timmy could practically taste the current between them as it comes alive, electric. Instead of rising to the bait, Armie smirks at Timmy, looks over to the tiramisu and back. “Our dessert is right there.” Timmy rolls his eyes and pinches Armie’s flank. “Ow, Timmy, quit it.” He squirms away, laughing. 

“I thought I made it clear on our lunch date that I don’t appreciate this tease.” Pinching Armie one more time, Timmy makes a move to stand up from Armie’s lap when he jumps away, but the latter only caught him by the waist and twisted him around. “I’m getting _dessert_ , asshat.”

Armie responded with a full body laugh, his hand not releasing Timmy’s waist as he stood up. “Now, don’t be like that, babe.” Armie rubs his face against Timmy’s, and the prickle of stubble makes his toes curl in his shoes. Seemingly aware of this, Armie smiles against Timmy’s cheek but only kisses him on the forehead. 

“What do you hope to achieve by acting this way?” Timmy questions, mildly offended so he can hope that he covers just how far gone he feels. 

Armie takes a plate and scoops up a huge chunk of tiramisu. He then puts two forks on the plate and Timmy realizes that they’re sharing. “Forgiveness,” Armie simply answers, holding the serving up to Timmy. 

“Fine, whatever.” Timmy takes the fork and scoots his chair as close to Armie’s as possible. He feels Armie’s hand in his hair once he’s seated, slowly brushing through his curls. Timmy looks up to Armie by then, but only sees the motion of him descending before feeling Armie’s lips against his own. 

Everything that came after that felt like a badly disguised foreplay. The air between them has a certain buzz, and Timmy can feel a shock whenever their skin would touch. He could tell that Armie feels it too, especially with the way he takes deep breaths between bites. There hadn’t even been that much words exchanged, but they still talk, though the responses were short or just hums. Timmy tells Armie more about the time he spent in Italy as it was brought up due to the dessert. The villa has enough things in it that Timmy barely would have a reason to still go out. There’s a piano, guitar, violin and a harp all in one area, while the study has bookshelves all around it, floor to ceiling. He tells Armie that it’s in Italy that he’s read a lot of the classical literature, simply because the ambience feels suited for it. Crema, much like a lot of Italy, is a town frozen in time. It didn’t help that the land surrounding their villa stretches wide enough that the bustle on the central could barely reach them. In turn, Armie talks about his own impression of Italy, and Timmy finds he’s not surprised that he immediately sought out the city life he grew up having when he visited Rome, Venice and Sicily. He even tries to say the Italian phrases he memorized, making Timmy laugh because after hello and goodbye, Armie only saved those related to flirting. They’re all heavily accented if not completely wrong, but Timmy is not going to say a thing to any Italian who fell for it. It’s so stupidly adorable and flattering, especially because Armie looks every bit dashing, so when he acts like he’s _trying_ … Well, Timmy gets it, he really does. 

They cleared the table and because they’re on a roll, even did the dishes together. It significantly calms down the energy between them, only to be replaced by staggering domesticity. They exchanged a look, as if to communicate that they noticed the shift in the air, and nudged each other with their shoulder, their arms covered with dishwashing soap. Armie lets Timmy in on another tick, which involves him tapping his foot on the floor as his hands work, which at the moment are on the dishes. He tells him that it gives his brain an activity to focus on when the task at hand feels tedious and Timmy soaks up the information, and all the examples that Armie gave after that. Timmy marvels at how easily Armie opens up about himself, so honestly breaking down the times he’d been nervous, or afraid or uncertain. It tells him that Armie is so at ease in their shared space and Timmy doesn’t even want to make a noise so he could have this moment keep on going on and on. He’s so happy he feels lightheaded with the enormity of it. 

What Timmy wouldn’t give to keep this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second half of their date, told from Armie's perspective. I thought to split them yesterday because the pacing and transition looked ridiculous, and I finished editing finally. Thanks for the lovely comments! Will get back to you guys by Friday for an update x

Armie considers efficiency in getting ready in the morning as one of the most essential skills to have if you want to be good at your job. Normally, he’s very good at it and takes only up to forty minutes then he’s out of the door. But then again, he’s looked forward to this particular Saturday for three long weeks that he’s long turned off his alarm and apparently, massive changes can happen in a week. On the day that he’s meeting Timmy for a date, he overslept, woke up to consecutive calls in both his personal and work phone, and thrown into a conference call all in a span of twenty minutes of blearily trying to navigate being alive again. He wakes up with a headache, which doesn’t surprise him anymore since he’s barely getting enough sleep, and it only worsens throughout the call. Just to make light of all this, Armie decided to send Timmy his before and after pictures and at least have a good laugh out of it. He got what he wanted and told Timmy he’ll be on his way. 

Truthfully, Armie would’ve made it to Timmy’s at eleven sharp, but his side trip to the flower shop took longer than he intended. As soon as he walked in, a cheerful blonde met him at the entrance and he shuffled a bit, still disoriented. 

“Any occasion? Is it your girlfriend, wife…?” She trails off, questioning. 

Armie’s eyes darted around the shop, his mind going on overdrive. It’s usually much easier to shop for flowers if it’s a woman, because he can basically let the florist decide and it’s good to go. On top of the fact that Timmy is very much a man and Armie actually cares to impress him, he suddenly feels out of his depth with the selection available. And then there’s little miss receptionist over here, asking for their relationship label, and the gender is already wrong, but Armie doesn’t really know how to classify them yet. 

“Uh,” he grumbles, confused. “It’s for my date.” 

Clapping her hands together, she begins on a tirade on flowers and meanings and the arrangements they offer. She tells him about his options and prods him a bit for clues about his date. It’s easily an information overload, and none of the things she’s shown him so far actually made him feel good about giving it to Timmy. He moves around with her though, since he doesn’t have a better thing to do, but he’s overall letting his gut decide for him. For whatever reason, the dark red Ecuadorian roses caught his eyes and he stopped following the staff to stare at it. 

“Well of course, roses. They’re Ecuadorian roses, fuller blooms and generally bigger and prettier. They’re classic but-”

Armie rarely has creative visions in his head, but he follows his gut anyway. “Can I get two dozens of them in a black wrapper?” 

She blinks at him, taken aback by the interruption. “Of course, do you want other flowers with that. I can recommend-”

“No, please, just two dozens of the roses, thank you.” Armie smiles and stands his ground until she moves to fetch him the roses. 

There is in fact, a lot of choosing to do when arranging a bouquet. It’s not  _ only _ because Armie is new to this, but also because he really thinks it’s all fitting, so he asks for the shiny black paper and a satin ribbon to tie it with. It looks huge as he watches her wrap the flowers, and when she offers it to him Armie actually smiles, pleased with himself. 

“Perfect,” he tells her and settles his bill. 

Armie couldn’t tell anymore if the way his stomach was churning had anything to do with the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything since he woke up, or because he’s finally seeing Timmy after going days on end on the phone, or the combination of the two. His driver, Tom, has been glancing at him at the rear-view mirror. Armie bets he’s going to gossip about his flower-shopping with Viktor. 

“Is this too much?” Armie asks Tom, waving to the flower. He has to talk if only to shut up his brain.

Tom barely takes his eyes off the road. “I don’t think so.” 

“Why?” He prods on, more agitated with himself than curious about the answer. 

“You like him. And you’re showing it.” His shoulders moved in a slight shrug as if to say  _ obviously. _

“And it’s good that I’m showing it.” Armie baits. 

Tom finally looks at him through the mirror and fixes him with a solemn stare. “Well, yes, that too. But I mean you’ve never liked anyone this way.” 

At his core, Armie is well aware of that, but his stomach still lurches when it’s spelled out to him. 

“May I add something, a bit more personal?” Tom asks as they round up to Timmy’s apartment building. 

“You have roughly thirty seconds before we pull up.” Armie shrugs. He never really minds when his staff voice out their opinions around him, and he’s not starting now. 

“I knew I was marrying Carol when I first met her, even before I asked her out on a date.” Tom steers the wheel and parks around the bend. “It was just a matter of  _ when _ I’d be proposing.”

Normally, Armie would be out of the car before anyone could even finish a sentence like that. This time though, he takes a moment to appreciate the sentiment.  _ It’s alright to feel this way this soon, it’s just a matter of sticking around to find out if you’re right _ . “Thanks, Tom,” Armie finally says, and he means it. 

When Armie presses Timmy’s doorbell, his stomach flips and he strangely feels shy, so he lifts the bouquet to his face to hide it. He hears the door open and Timmy calls his name like a question. Of course his first instinct is to tease him, but then he’s pulled into the apartment and straight into Timmy’s lips and his stomach erupts with so much butterflies that he feels silly. What he’s not prepared for is to see Timmy in his own space, relaxed and more confident than Armie has ever seen him. The guy is even wearing a goddamn choker, and Armie checks himself because he never realized he might have a thing for neck accessories, considering he also found it hot when Timmy pulled him by his tie. The way that Timmy reacts to him was intoxicating, and he’s already completely gone on it, but the open excitement and delight coming off of Timmy just adds to Armie’s desire to chase it again and again. 

Armie honestly expected a burst of colors upon entering Timmy’s apartment. The door opens to this huge clearance, an undivided space right from the living room to the kitchen at the far back. What he found were white walls and polished marble tiles, and almost every inch of it was covered with something. His walls have paintings, tapestries, picture frames, shelves, porcelain plates, fairy lights and plants hanging with reasonable space apart from each other all around the apartment. The areas each of these occupy on the walls seem coordinated and planned, like a mood board. His floor had eccentric rugs, and there are plants at almost every corner. What his walls and floor lacked in color, his furniture filled in. The living room has a massive deep, emerald green velvet corner sofa with silver and white blankets strewn across the back and a lot of mismatched pillows. There’s a modern fireplace in the wall, barely noticeable if not in use, and a massive screen above it. On each side of it were tall plants in glass, and then another bookshelves that totally had other things than just books. Timmy appears to like collecting trinkets as Armie finds souvenirs or figurines gathered on every surface. Armie could only gape at how lively Timmy’s apartment seems. 

Just behind his posh sofa is an even more ostentatious black grand piano. Adjacent to it is a harp pushed snug on the wall and Armie had to blink at it, surprised. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who  _ owns _ a harp. Gathered at the foot of it are two guitar cases and a violin case. The instruments are directly situated where the massive glass two-door to the balcony would open, and just before it are stacks on stacks of canvas lying on the floor, leaning on the wall, hanging, There are also easels facing the balcony, and an enormous glass cabinet that has so much brushes and paints. Armie smiles fondly at the gramophone and remembers the one his grandmother owned, then he looks at the instruments and materials that seem to divide the living room to the dining and kitchen area. It’s like a creative strip of some sort. 

Timmy disappears on him for a moment to fetch a vase and comes back with a heavy-looking crystal one that he fills with water and dumps the roses in. They moved to prepare their lunch after that, but not without their usual lighthearted wit and banter. He never doubted for a second that pull of attraction he felt on their last date, but it still shocked him now that he’s back within Timmy’s close proximity. It’s even more charged now and he’s always on edge and high alert because they flit back and forth from being domestic to high sexual tension. Normally, Armie would’ve jumped on the sexual tension and be done with it, because the first signs of domesticity just sent him off running anyway. He allows himself to ride this one out, not for any other reason than the fact that it’s Timmy, and Armie is  _ finally _ sure that he wants to know where it would take him. 

When Timmy looks at him, unsure and hesitant, Armie has a rush of panic that shuts down his brain function for a split second before sending it into a riot. He thought it’s cruelly ironic that the one time he’s finally sure, it’s the other party who wants to back away. He laughed at himself internally, mocking, because he’s gone through the attraction and domesticity just fine, and it’s  _ this _ that made him insecure about his footing. When Timmy realizes what he’s getting on in his head, he immediately assures Armie that they’re exactly on the same page, so Armie accepts the kiss, but it’s always hard to shake off panic once it’s started to bubble on the surface. 

If he’s overcompensating from that moment onwards, then that’s his own damn business. He switches the table arrangement so they can sit on the same side, kissing Timmy whenever he has the chance but not so much that it looks like it’s all he’s planning to do. When he finally takes a bite of their food, Armie feels relief coming in waves throughout his body, and he’s finally made aware of the fact that he’d been so fundamentally  _ tired _ that his body doesn’t recognize it anymore. He’d worked himself to exhaustion all these weeks that his brain classified it as normal, and it took Timmy’s consideration for him to remember what it’s like to feel rested. 

It’s overwhelming, much like all the other things that Timmy brings ever since they met, and Armie has to let some of it out. Even if it steered them into dangerous territories, Armie doesn’t mind risking it, but he thinks to draw it out anyway, opting for dessert. And just like that they return into their bubble of domestic bliss, clearing the table and washing the dishes. They talked and talked with no direction, just words and stories flowing back and forth, joking and teasing in between. 

Once everything is clean and the plates are dry, Armie takes his phone out to check the places they could go to, and just seeing the distance between Timmy’s apartment to the district reminds him of just how sore his feel feel from seemingly never stopping all these weeks, his back straining when he straightens, how his limbs just want to put all its weight on a surface so he doesn't have to carry it on his aching body. He also understands though that Timmy has already done more than enough for him and he has no intention of dumping all the responsibilities on the other man for this date. He's already done enough hosting Armie for lunch that pretty much feels like it healed a portion of his soul. Besides, Timmy is already dressed up to go out, too. So he scrolls through Google maps, motioning Timmy to look with him. 

“My turn to entertain you now,” Armie smiles and nudges Timmy with his shoulder. He means it, and he would’ve done anything to do that, even if it means pushing down the weeks of exhaustion to go through his plans with Timmy. “I’m not about to do things halfway with you-” 

Timmy snorts loudly, interrupting him. “Yeah no shit, Hammer.” 

“Hush, and let me lie to myself.” Armie points his index finger at Timmy then pokes his nose with it. He leans in for a kiss but Timmy pulls away, grimacing at him. 

“Don’t be fucking kissing me now, I swear to God, I’d throw you out.” Timmy glares at him, making Armie laugh. He tries again though, and Timmy chuckles into the kiss. 

“We have the entire day ahead of us! Look, we can visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island in a roundtrip excursion.” He shows the screen to Timmy, who shakes his head at him in disbelief while laughing. “I’d even get us tickets to a show later tonight if you’re up for that.” Internally, Armie winces, his entire body sagging just at the thought of an entire day of activities. He pulled himself together faster than Timmy could catch it though, because he’s more than ready to shove all of it down and continue sweeping Timmy off his feet. 

Timmy looks at him, excited at the idea, and then frowns, his worry suddenly turning the grin on his lips upside down. “Armie?” He asks, a hand reaching out to him. 

Armie takes Timmy’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His own worry spreads through his system, confused as to why Timmy would look at him with such alarm. “What?” 

Instead of answering, Timmy puts his free hand to his face, tracing the creases on his forehead then under his eyes. Armie swallows and tries to resist his urge to pull away. Timmy must have noticed, if the tightening of his hold was anything to go by. “I didn’t realize how exhausted you are. Do you want to just stay in?” 

Armie is so surprised that he physically felt that the room had tilted. He gapes at Timmy, shocked, and then gives himself a run through of his actions, looking for anything that gave him away. He thought that he covered it up pretty well - hell, he’d done it for nearly a month up to this point - and wondered exactly how can Timmy know when they’ve barely been around each other, let alone known each other before this week. 

“What are you saying? We’ve got so many places we could go to. Didn’t you say you’ve never visited again after your first time?” Armie says, trying to save their date, even if every cell of his fatigued body wants to take Timmy up on the offer and just lie down on his ridiculous green couch and put a movie in the background while they make out. “I even prepared to look like an obnoxious tourist. Here,” He shuffles in his seat and reaches into his jacket pocket, taking out sunglasses and wearing them. 

Thankfully, Timmy laughs, reaching up to take the sunglasses off his face. Armie swallows, noting that the worry hasn’t ebbed away. “When was your last day off, before this?” 

“Uh,” he grumbles, unsure. Armie remembers taking a day off three weeks ago. He spent half of it decluttering his files and making a bunch of phone calls so he could return the next day with less work which, in hindsight, doesn’t sound like much of a day-off. “Three weeks ago?” He finally supplies, and Timmy’s brows shoot up to his forehead. 

“Armie!” Timmy berates. 

“And I want to spend it with you, going around the city, because I’ve been here most of my adult life and I don’t associate it with much other things than work, work work.” Armie reasons, if only to stave off the disappointment he’s feeling, mainly directed towards himself. He doesn’t want to guilt Timmy into discarding their plans, but by God, Armie wants to just lie down. “Besides, you’ve done enough, okay? I want to do this for you.” 

Stubbornly, Timmy shakes his head, his eyes focusing on his with a determined gleam. “No, you’re dead tired, Armie, you need to rest. We should just stay in for today. The city will still be there tomorrow, and the days after that. I don’t want you overexerting yourself.” 

“You can’t be serious, you already dressed up.” Armie doesn’t know why he’s still putting up a fight, but he’ll be damned if he acknowledges that it’s likely because he thinks he’s letting Timmy down. 

“There’s no catch.” Timmy tells him, holding his gaze, and Armie could’ve sobbed right there, dropping his act. Without missing a beat, Timmy catches him in an embrace, putting his head on his shoulder. “Look at you, your entire body is tense, we’ll do it another day.” 

Armie breathes into his neck, his only relief as he allows the tension from his fatigue to take over his body. “Thank you,” he mutters and feels Timmy move to take his face back into his hands, then kisses his nose. “How would you want to spend the day, though? I mean, I don’t want us to do nothing, our schedules can barely allow us to meet.” 

Instead of answering, Timmy takes his hand and leads him to his piano. They sit side by side, and Timmy kisses the underside of his jaw before putting his fingers on the keyboard and starts playing. Now, Armie knows jackshit about classical music and art, but if Timmy can tell from looking closely at Armie that he’s dead on his feet, then he’ll also know exactly what to play to relax his nerves. It was soft and mellow, picking up energy as it goes but maintaining the soothing melody as it progresses. It’s  _ beautiful, _ and Armie swears he could fall asleep listening to it, except that his eyes dart to Timmy, wanting to verbalize his awe, but the words dissolve in his mouth. 

Obviously, if Armie just paid enough attention to Liz’s words when she was setting him up for their blind date, he could’ve had some warning when it’s finally his turn to watch Timmy play. As it happens, Armie has an absolutely lopsided foresight and it only occurs to him now. It’s more than just a musical experience - Armie bets Liz wasn’t even as close to Timmy as he is now when he played the harp in that one event - it’s  _ ethereal,  _ and Liz’s description couldn’t me more underplayed. Of course, Armie is more than aware that Timmy is too gorgeous for his own good. To witness him move in his own element, to see him know  _ for sure _ that he’s one of the best at what he does, it’s glorious and it takes Armie’s breath away. He struggles to regain control of himself, and when his breathing is finally feeling more and more controlled Timmy just  _ has _ to glance over at him. Naturally, Armie’s breath is knocked out of his lungs again, his heartbeat struggling to keep up. Timmy smiles wholly, his lashes fluttering shyly at Armie, his eyes trained on his with immense affection. 

When Timmy finishes, Armie wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him to kiss his forehead. He takes a moment to just stay there, breathing the other man in and closing his eyes. He’s more relaxed than he can recall in months. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells Timmy. “Everything about you. I swear it’s like you walked straight out of my dreams.” 

“I’m real though.” As if to assure him, Timmy shuffles closer and kisses him. “Do you want me to play another one or do you want to move to the couch?” 

Armie pushes down the possibilities once they move to the couch, but it doesn’t mean he’s changing his answer. “Couch,” he simply responds, keeping his eyes closed and his face pressed against Timmy’s. 

“Alright,” Timmy pecks on his lips, and Armie feels him smiling. “Why don’t you wait for me there? I’d get a bottle of wine.” 

“You trying to get on to something?” Armie teases, moving his brows for added effect. 

Timmy makes a face at him, like he’s being ridiculous on purpose, which he is. “Don’t be silly. You cockblock yourself.” 

Armie laughs, though he knows he has to talk to Timmy about it. He follows Timmy’s instruction from there, proceeding to move to the couch while Timmy fetches wine and glasses. Armie expected the couch to be soft, but not to the extent that it would feel like lying down on clouds. The furniture gives way under his weight and then immediately going snug around his form. He can trace the tension subside and he finally feels light,  _ there’s no catch, _ Timmy says, and it’s freeing to not have so much expectations, even just for a day. Faintly, he hears noises from the kitchen; wood on the quartz countertop, knife cutting, and then pebbles? Armie opens his eyes and tilts his head, trying to figure out what Timmy is doing without looking. He hears glasses clinking against each other, and so he  _ did _ get the wine. Putting his arm on the back of the couch, Armie pulls himself into a sitting position, looking over at Timmy, just in time to catch him walking back to the living room. He's holding the wine bottle and two glasses in one hand, and a ridiculous cheese board balanced on his other forearm. 

“Don’t-” Timmy motions Armie to stay on the couch when he moves to help him. “I don’t think I can pass the platter to you without spilling everything. Here, take the wine and glasses.” 

Armie crawls to the other end of the couch, taking them from Timmy. He sets it down on the coffee table and finds a corkscrew conveniently lying on the end table along with preserved flowers and scented candles. Gripping the bottle, Armie takes a second to read the label - French, he realizes - before taking out the cork. Timmy flops down next to him, holding their glasses. 

“That’s a whole lot.” Armie notes, nodding towards the platter with at least four types of cheese, some crackers, dried fruits, nuts, and a variety of cured meat. “You trying to keep me on this couch for a while?” He pours them some wine, then places the bottle on the table. 

“Yup, because we’re not moving from this couch all afternoon.  _ Someone _ needs to rest or Hammer Corporation would see its CEO rolled out on a stretcher.” Timmy swirls the wine in his glass and snuggles closer to Armie. 

Armie laughs at the reference, lifting his arm so Timmy could fit under. “That’s true, but this much? We just ate.” 

“Oh please, you’re constantly hungry.” Poking him on his flank, Timmy snorts a laughter when Armie jerks away in shock then panics that he might spill the wine. 

“Hey, be careful, if college tuition in the U.S is a piece of furniture it would look like your couch.” Armie is awkwardly leaning on his side, balancing the glass in his hand but not releasing Timmy either. “So what are you up to do, aside from spoiling me rotten?” 

Timmy only shrugs. “I’m sure the idea will come.” He takes a short sip before asking “Business as usual tomorrow?” 

Armie hums, his hand moving from Timmy’s shoulder to stroke his hair. “Yeah, but as far as I know my schedule is not as crowded. Actually, I think I might get off early. Do you want to have dinner?” 

“I’m attending this get-together of sorts in a bar at 6th ave., we do it once in a while. It’s a mix of Broadway actors, musicians, producers, conductors, playwrights, acquaintances from Juilliard, their dates, their spouses, their kids, their pets; I lost track already. In the years we’ve done it everyone just invites everyone. I actually just got invited in my senior year, too. The circle just keeps getting bigger and bigger.” Timmy explains. 

“Your crowd,” Armie replies and tries to imagine how this side of Timmy would look given that he’ll be surrounded by people who speak his language. “You don’t meet anyone from there?” 

Timmy looks up at him to gauge his expression. Armie meets his eyes and Timmy smiles, finding that he’s just genuinely curious and nothing more. “I have. It’s easy to gravitate towards people who you share interests and passion with. It’s not a good idea though.” A laugh escapes him, and then picks his story back up. “We’re artists and musicians; that's a different level of cut-throat industry. You’re bound to run over each other in various places, even if you say you’re in different leagues. You see each other chasing the same opportunities, and then you feel the underlying competition even if you’re supposed to be a team or whatever.” Timmy finishes with a shrug, then sips his wine. 

“Don’t shit where you eat, got it.” 

“Ever heard of that one?” Timmy teases, but the question is heavy on his eyes. 

Armie slightly raised both his hands in mock-surrender. “A couple of times, yeah,” he admits. 

“How did that go for you?” It was Timmy’s turn to be curious and Armie finds he doesn’t mind appeasing him. 

“Weird, for starters.” Timmy snorts at him, making Armie laugh. “It’s an entire gradient of bad to good, because of course sometimes you want different things out of the arrangement - whatever that is from dating or fuck buddies - and so it’s unfair to drag it on, only to find yourself in the same conference room a week later and the other person decides to be petty. On the other hand, you have ones who were just out enjoying themselves and figured they liked me enough as a person, then I have pretty useful contacts. The others in between sort of tip back and forth towards either side, depending on which day I catch them.” 

“Hmm, that’s quite an extensive review. Would you recommend it?” Timmy nudges him teasingly, his eyes shining with mischief. 

“No, Jesus, I’ve lived a stupid life. I think I stopped when I turned thirty or something. I got fed up with Jenny’s nagging, I thought she was going to throw me out the window of my office.” He shudders at the memory. 

“Oh my, what did you do?” 

“Small world,” Armie starts, drinking from his glass because he’ll need it. “I was going out with the daughter of a partner at that time - Rachel, that’s her name - and she found out that there were two or three people I had a history with that I was still meeting, business of course. She was so territorial. The company didn’t suffer so much but it was bad for business.” 

Timmy cackled in amusement. “You brought that to yourself,” he says, and Armie couldn’t help joining him in his laughter. 

“I agree.” Armie says and he can tell the topic has died down from there. “Tell me about how you started with your craft.” 

“Music or art?”

“Tell me everything.” 

Timmy blushes, his eyes dropping to his glass then swirling the liquid around. “Pauline and I were actually homeschooled until eight; formative years education or something. My father’s thing.” He shrugs, the entire scientific explanation clearly long forgotten. “It was extremely custom tailored to the student, as you can imagine because it was one-on-one teaching. I think I was evaluated at three? And my interests were really in art. They tried to put me on instruments and it clicked.”

“Gifted kid,” Armie comments admiringly. 

“Eh, I wouldn't say that. I was just lucky to have been born into enough privilege and my family could afford to give me the best education. When you're homeschooled like that, you're treated as good as gifted already, because they find your interests and encourage them, then your classes were founded on that.” Timmy’s eyes stare blankly on the floor, thinking. “It only got put to perspective when I got into Juilliard and then after. I mean, there were a couple who really worked blood, sweat and tears to get accepted, but you know how it is. Wealth is not a determining factor into admission, but it sure as hell is a sweet advantage. The first time I went to this pub get-together, I thought to myself I’d never show my face there again.” 

Alarmed, Armie places his glass on the end table and balances it among the clutter before he takes Timmy’s face, searching. “Did something happen?” 

Timmy shakes his head and turns it to leave a kiss into Armie’s palm. “No, I just felt so much less of a man. They were trading stories, their  _ plights _ , how long and difficult the road was to get where they are. Then there’s me; homeschooled, went to European boarding school, a trust fund baby who went to Juilliard and moved into this-” he waves his hand into the air, indicating the entirety of his apartment. “Already paid for and furnished property and then transferred to my name when I graduated as a gift. I hated every second that I was there.” 

“And now?” Armie asks, turning his body to face him. 

“Better now,” Timmy promises. “It’s just my head sometimes. I can’t exactly shut it off, you know? The most respectful thing to do is to keep my mouth shut. Nobody wants to listen to my first-world problems.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Armie leans back, taking his limbs with him, and motions to himself. “We make do with the circumstances that we’re born into.” He knows he doesn’t need to elaborate further since they already talked about the company and how Armie tried to improve the situation as much as he could. 

“If you were there, you’d hardly believe that yourself.” Armie knows Timmy meant it as an off-handed comment, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Do you want me there?”

The glass stopped mid-air as Timmy was taking it to his mouth to sip. A beat passed with him just gaping at Armie. “You’d come?” 

“I’m not inviting myself, obviously, and I don’t mean tomorrow right away. But if it really bothered you-”

“Yes.” Timmy cuts him off but sucks his lips in immediately after speaking, hesitant. 

In case he’s misjudging the single worded response, Armie asks “Someday?” 

“Tomorrow night?” 

Armie smiles, relieved, cups Timmy’s face and says “It’s a date then,” before pulling him into a kiss. 

If there was anything that Armie estimated wrongly, it would be Timmy’s response to his offer. He almost missed the coffee table when he set down the glass and climbed Armie’s lap, which is quickly becoming one of Armie’s favorites. When they tipped their heads forward to kiss, and Armie swears he probably blacked out. One second, it was sweet and earnest, but Armie is aware of how easy it is to lose track of how a kiss started. When his brain regains a few sparks of rationality, Armie’s left arm is under Timmy’s sweater, flat on the skin of his back while the other holds him by the nape, his thumb grazing over the choker. There’s a tongue in his mouth and their hips meet to grind, their kiss momentarily breaking when they groaned simultaneously.

Armie felt a flood of panic as he realized where it was going, but Timmy wasted no time to put their mouths back together, full of intent. He gives into it but tries to slow it down until Timmy catches on, pulling his hands away and moving them to rest on the younger man’s hips. Not even his foresight could prepare Armie as Timmy opens his eyes a fraction, heavy-lidded and his pupils blown wide. A lot of his hair has fallen towards his face, the curls swirled by the angles and dips of his flushed cheeks, his lips just a tad darker red than the rest of his skin. Armie forces a smile, but it comes out with a puff of laughter like he’s shocked stupid, which is not far from the truth. 

“I’m really about to take insult from getting repeatedly turned down like this.” Timmy pouts at him, playful, but with enough truth as he crosses his arms across his chest. 

“You’re doing nothing wrong-” 

“If you say  _ ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ _ I will walk out of my own house.”

Armie laughed. “No, no, not like that. I just. I don’t want to get carried away.” 

Timmy scowled at him so hard that Armie had to laugh again. “I’m twenty-four, not a minor. Please don’t say you’re worried about my virtues.” As if to emphasize his point, he arches his back and sits himself on Armie’s thighs. 

His eyes followed the movements easily, dazed and dumbfounded. Shaking his head, Armie spits the words out before all his brain functions hang on the tip of his dick. “I just thought that maybe, it’ll be better to wait.” 

There’s unconcealed discomposure on Timmy’s face and he frowns. “Uh… why?” 

For a better chance of getting through the conversation, Armie guides Timmy off his lap so they can sit on the couch, facing each other. “I don’t want to screw up.” 

“Don’t even try to-” Timmy gestures at him, pulling a face. “I knew I might be coming on too strong, or over-eager, you don’t have to-” 

“No, that’s not what I’m getting at.” Armie interrupts, trying to get a hold of the reins before it spirals out of control. “Shit, whatever, I plan on hashing this out at some point anyway, so here goes. I’m walking on glass - wait no please, let me finish, I might never be able to say this if not now.” Armie takes Timmy’s hand in his own, their fingers coming together. He meant to reassure him, to tell him he’s not going anywhere, that they just need to get through the motions, especially Armie. Timmy squeezes his hand as if to say _go on, you have me, I’m listening._

Armie smiles at him and sneaks in a quick kiss to Timmy’s cheek before picking his speech back up. “My last actual relationship was Liz. And we’ve already gone through that, to be worried about her is the same as being jealous of Saoirse. It’s not the lack of trying on my part; I’ve gone out plenty ever since. I know I’ve come close to having steady relationships, but there’s always a bump in the road that just crumbles  _ everything _ . I can’t even recall the reasons now if I tried, none of it ever stuck. And the thing is, I was okay with that. I shake my head and regret the falling apart and then go on my merry way. But this? Us? If I mess up along the way and we fall apart,” he shakes his head, his chest tightening painfully with just the thought of it. “I’d be devastated. I’d look back on this every time I would meet with someone new, and I know, I  _ know _ for a fact that I will be right because I’m old enough and experienced enough, that this? What you make me feel now, everything would pale in comparison. And I don’t… You see me, and I let you see me, I want you to. And you’re easily one of the people I don’t hide from. You must know by now just how much I want you, and it’s not like I’ve been subtle about it.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes at him, but still doesn’t speak. They take a moment to laugh before Armie speaks again. 

“I’m afraid to go there, because of course I’m madly attracted to you, and I’m worried about where it would take us. I’m worried that I might build on that, and do all the steps wrong along the way. A lot of this is probably just my paranoia and my own bullshit from the past biting me in the ass, but I’m also worried…” Armie stops, gathering courage to say it to Timmy’s face and quickly realizing that ripping it off would be best. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m worried that we won’t get to establish, well,  _ us, _ and to come to a point where there’s nothing for us to fall back on if there’s no sex binding us. I want a relationship with you, and I’m terrified to follow the same old road that led to all my previous relationships crashing and burning in the end. I’m sorry, too much?” Armie finishes with a grimace, mostly to himself. He’s well aware that it’s too soon for him to bare himself like that, to talk so far down the road like that, and it must have thrown Timmy off somehow but Armie has to let it out. If there’s an off chance that he is mistaken on where they stand and where they want to take this, it should be clear by now, because to drag this on would shatter the last of the fragile hope he has of relationships. 

Timmy simply holds his gaze, his pupils still dilated but without the frantic arousal. Instead, he searches Armie’s eyes, and Armie shifts in his seat but wills himself to not look away, which seems to satisfy Timmy enough. He smiles at him, with renewed understanding and attachment that made Armie release the breath he was holding. “Thank you, for telling me, for trusting me with this.” Armie could tell that Timmy is trying to choose his words as best as he could with consideration to him. “And I had a minor freak out this morning, too, because I’m just as terrified of feeling so much for something that just started, so I understand you there at least. I’m - wait, I’m usually much better with words than this, I know four languages, give me a second - I’m…” 

Timmy trails off again and they both laugh. Armie doesn’t speak though. He allows Timmy the second he asked for. 

“Okay, I think I got it. Now that we’re talking about it, you’ve gone through more than I have, and clearly carry more from those experiences than I do with mine, so I have to ask you. I need to, actually. I need you to communicate with me like this, on things like this, you know what I mean. If we’re doing it right, that has to come first, because a lot of the time, I wouldn’t know, because I can only hope to wrap my head around the number of people who have come and go in your life and left a mark, but I can  _ understand _ .” Timmy nods, more to himself, as if reconciling the words that came out of his mouth and what’s inside his head and found them agreeable. 

There’s finally mutual relief in the air, like a crisis averted. Maybe that’s exactly what it is. Armie knows himself very well, and his knee-jerk reaction to be either vehemently defensive or storm out is barely kept locked away as they discussed. He tugs at Timmy, who easily moves into his arms for an embrace. 

“Okay, okay. I can do that. Thank you, I - well…” Armie feels Timmy shaking in his arms before he hears the barely contained laughter muffled on his chest. “Oh, give me a break. I don’t think I ever talked that much outside of a meeting.” 

Timmy is just full on laughing at him, his head moving to hook his chin on Armie’s shoulder. “I can just imagine how that’s probably the most you’ve communicated in a relationship in years.” 

Armie scrunches his face at the accuracy. “Yeah, now let me off before I crawl into your fireplace and hope to disappear.” 

“Fine, fine,” he says, arranging himself so he’s half lying down on Armie’s chest, snuggled. “You sure about tomorrow?” 

Incredibly long limbs come in handy in situations like this. Armie managed to retrieve Timmy’s glass of wine before reaching behind him to get his own. “Yeah, why not?” 

“You’ll be surrounded by noise and over energetic people at the end of your work.” Timmy answers. 

“Is that how they make you feel?” 

Timmy takes his time before responding. “No, I enjoy their company. It’s a good outlet, to be as loud as you want and move as much as you can without following a strict set.” 

“Then I’d be there.” Armie tips his head to kiss the top of Timmy’s head. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another filler chapter! Sorry about that, I promise to have the Happy Hour up by Monday, one professor of mine decided to pop up out of nowhere and force us to finish the rest of the semester by making us self-study her syllabus like the biggest dickbag I know.

In the six hours that they spent together since brunch, Saoirse has thrown at least eight different things at Timmy’s face to get him out of his trance that he keeps slipping into. He apologized every time but couldn’t seem to stop. Armie stayed over and they spent the majority of it snuggled on the couch, trading stories and kisses. They cleared out the cheese board along the way, feeding each other bites like they did at Armie’s office. Sure, it’s a shame sex didn’t happen, and he can’t say he wasn’t disappointed, but it was a compromise he’s willing to make especially judging by how much it took out of Armie to verbalize it. Timmy can wait, and he would, because even if he wanted it -  _ wants _ it - it’s not the only thing he’s after, and he agreed with Armie for most part anyway. He knows there’s no actual foolproof way to do this, but it’s a sensible start. So Timmy just told him about the Happy Hour at the 6th avenue that the performing arts community claimed as their own. (Timmy found out two years ago that the people who started the get-together just flooded into the pub randomly and suddenly became a regular Sunday thing that now is still going on for years.) They even strayed into talking about Timmy’s misadventures after having one too many drinks, or getting carried away in a stupid debate, even his hook-ups. He was cautious at that point, uncertain with the amount of information he should be giving out of respect to his previous partners and Armie. Instead of focusing on the sex, Timmy told Armie that there were hardly anyone - ex or casual - that he had a horrible falling out with. Armie nodded, and when he said that it’s smart because he’s preventing poison in his circle, Timmy knew for sure that he understood. They finished the bottle of wine shortly after and when Timmy came to himself, he realized they both fell into a nap. Armie woke up shortly after him and Timmy felt overtaken with awe, the warm light from dusk shining on his tanned face, his blonde hair brighter, his eyes gleaming as he smiled down at Timmy. He felt smaller than he already is at the face of a man who’s kind and honest and adores him on top of being that handsome. 

“Sersh, it doesn’t make sense, tell me I’m being ridiculous. Did I make this all up?” Timmy just clutches the pillow that Saoirse threw to his head, burying his face in it. “I mean- argh!” He tosses the pillow as if it would make up for his lack of words then kicks it away. 

Saoirse is glowering at him, massaging her foot. “You’re the worst story-teller ever; you told me you had wine, he came over for lunch, you took a nap instead of going out because he was dead tired, you ate an entire cheese board, you talked about putting off sex, and I know for a fact it didn’t happen in that particular order.” 

“Have I told you we danced?” Timmy drops his head to rest on the back of the loveseat. “When we woke up from that nap and cleaned up the platter and drinks, he noticed that the sunset shines directly into my apartment through my balcony doors. We were standing at the kitchen, then he led me to the space between the piano and my art clutter by the doors, put on a record on the gramophone - he knows how to use one, I nearly died - and then we slow-danced.” 

The sound of Saoirse cracking her joints stopped, her voice filling in a moment later. “You’re living a Nicholas Sparks novel, my lad. Did he stay until dinner?” 

“Sort of? We went out though, just at the bistro at the street bend outside my building. His driver picked him up at around eight.” He’s twiddling his thumbs, feeling the butterflies on his stomach bursting by just talking about Armie. 

“You should talk about him later at Happy Hour; our playwright friends could use the inspo.” Saoirse says, back to cracking her bones. 

“Uh, yeah, no.” Pursing his lips, Timmy straightens on his seat to look at Saoirse, watching for her reaction as he adds “I invited him to come as my date.” 

Saoirse blinks at him, surprised. “Bet; your exes and hook-ups would think it’s the perfect time to be at Happy Hour.” 

“I told him about that. Actually, we talked about our history a fair bit, just to clear the air, I think.” Timmy shrugs, not really worried about running into people from his past as much as he should be. “You know I’m on good terms with almost everyone.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Half of them also still want to hit the sack with you or date you or both. Are you sure your Armie can handle that?” She teases, wiggling her brows. 

“You make it sound like I’m a female lead in a young adult vampire novel.” Timmy nods to her. “Do you want to have a go again?” 

Saoirse blasted his phone at seven in the morning to drag him out for brunch - her treat - as an unnecessary compensation for him watching her practice ballet. She was very insecure about it, having learned it very late at thirteen, stopping at fifteen, and then resuming at eighteen. She would’ve let it go altogether, except that there’s a role she’s really gunning for in an audition and now she has three months to get back in form. Timmy honestly would not recommend it. It hadn’t been that long since she graduated from NYU, and she knows two years of putting ballet at rest might as well meant that she never started, but she insists that she only needs to remember a few simple tricks. As anyone could guess, it hasn’t been going very well, though three months is a long time - not enough, but at least a stretch. 

“Be honest, is there hope?” Saoirse asks, her upper body bent sideways, her flank touching her thigh. 

Timmy frowns; she knows the answer to this. “That’s the only thing we have. It’s been forever since I did ballet, too. Are you sure you don’t want to get professional training?” 

“Tim,” she starts, fixing him with a solemn stare. “If you put my entire apartment in your bedroom, I would have space for a balcony, and I can barely afford this. I can literally invest nothing but hard work - fuck, my loans.” The head rush that followed her sudden jump to her feet almost knocked her back down, but she managed. There’s a basket by her door where she dumps her mail. 

“I’m so massively not qualified for this,” he runs his hand through his face nervously. “Just do some cross-training first - maybe try Pilates? - then basic barre. You remember them?” He yanks his satchel from the floor to take out his iPad. 

Saoirse is still going through her basket and doesn’t respond until she has the envelope she’s looking for. “There you are, bane of my existence.” She clicks her tongue at it disapprovingly. “As long as it’s on YouTube, I’ll manage. How long of that?” 

“Weeks, you need weeks. My classmate from way back told me that realistically, you need at least two months - this is  _ after _ you’ve built your strength - to get back around the easy techniques.” He glanced at her, the letter opened in her hands. 

She finally nods, acknowledging the advice. “Nothing crazy, it’s just an audition, it’ll be fine.” 

What they’re not addressing is if she doesn’t get the role, but her agent has been very insistent that she take this extra effort, convinced that Saoirse has a shot at it. Though having ballet as a skill when you’re an actress is hardly such a bad thing, Timmy worries about the overexertion that this conditioning will bring. She could be practicing everyday for eight hours and still not be back to the form she wants in three months. He believes in Saoirse, hell, he could might as well stand at the same line as her parents when it comes to testifying on her talent. At the same time, Timmy is also in the performing arts industry, knows firsthand how it’s more doors closing to your face than opening, knows that you could be the best option objectively and still lose to someone else because of preference. 

“I can tell what you’re thinking.” Saoirse says softly, sitting down on the space next to him. “And I don’t want to see it on your face, because I do it more than enough times on my own. Emily was wrong, the last time.” 

Emily, the agent, put Saoirse in a series of auditions for a Broadway role some months ago, claiming she was sure that they wanted her. The role was still given to someone else; another actress whose schedule finally cleared up to make way for the production. She missed her dad’s birthday. 

Timmy reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. It’s not happening to me and it overwhelms  _ me. _ You also need to switch up your diet for this to work.” 

Saoirse leans back on the loveseat, her legs coming up on the cushion so she can cross them. “Yeah, that’s why I’m planning to go all out tonight at Happy Hour, stuff my face with anything edible and drink until I feel it swirl in my stomach.” She grins at him, excited, making Timmy roll his eyes. 

“Oh my God, you’re going to throw up at the curb and I have to sit there holding your hair until we get an Uber.” Then, realizing his date, Timmy’s face blooms into a giddy smile. “Armie’s first impression of you will be a projectile-vomiting Irish woman who ate half the menu. You won’t even be able to pull an attitude on him.” 

Saoirse scoffs. “You  _ hope _ I won’t, but watch me.” She puts a hand on his iPad and pushes it down. “None of that; tell me more about him.” 

“I’ve been talking about him all day!” Timmy protests with a laugh, taking the satchel again and shoving the iPad back in. 

“What can I say? I’m curious.” She shrugs, dismissive. 

Crossing his arms across his chest, Timmy juts his chin towards Saoirse, skeptical. “Really?” He rolls out the word. 

“Yup, really.” She angles her face a bit, then raises a brow to him, urging him to go on. 

“Why? Your least favorite topic in a conversation is my dating life.” Not just Timmy’s, but dating in general. For that very reason, they just skip over it when they chat. It wasn’t personal or anything. Saoirse was just not an overly romantic person, hardly ever going out on dates, rarely ever attracted to anyone. 

Turning to face him, Saoirse slings her arm on the back of the loveseat, leaning her forehead on the heel of her hand. “It’s different this time.” 

“Different how?” Timmy knows inherently that it is different for him, but he’s curious to know what this appears like on the surface, especially if it’s Saoirse’s impression. 

She gives a slight shrug. “Well I’m used to you. I don’t know if it’s your French-Italian cinematic upbringing or you’re just some hopeless case, but you’re almost never truly casual with anyone. It’s like you’re always down to going all the way into a relationship somehow, but thankfully you’re smart and lose interest. It’s different this time because it’s not just mutual. This guy feels like he’s even more so.” 

“I think…” Timmy doesn’t think he can say it while looking at Saoirse’s piercing eyes, so he leans back again, staring at the ceiling. “I think he’s just braver than me, bolder. I don’t know how  _ I _ can measure up to that.”

“He sounds just about as charmed as you are, so I’d say you’ve done a pretty good job so far.” Timmy can see Saoirse searching his face from his peripheral vision. 

“Until when? Can I really keep up? What if he realizes I’m just a kid barely out of college, with nothing to his name except his parents’ money?” The admission rings to his own ears, sharper than he would expect, and the sting reaches his eyes. It has always been a deep-seated insecurity of his; only amounting to something because he’s born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Not talented, not gifted, not hardworking; just  _ privileged, privileged, privileged. _

“Then he’ll be misjudging you and anyone who would think that of you should go.” Saoirse firmly states. “He’s the same, isn’t he? I mean wealthy kin; born into extreme capitalists.” 

It’s not what wears down Timmy though. At dinner, their conversation strayed more into their careers and ambitions. It was exhilarating to hear Armie talk about his, especially with how significant and noble it was. “Did you know why he’s been working himself to the ground for so long? One of their family’s biggest income streams is oil. He’d been exploring ways of switching to more sustainable alternatives. He’s exhausting his own income for it too, meeting with experts, building a team, finding resources. I just know that one day, he’s going to revolutionize the industry. That’s what he’s doing with the privilege he’s born into.” He hears Saoirse inhale sharply as the shock settles in. “Yeah, I know. He’s quite a man.” 

“It’s not a competition, Tim.” Saoirse snaps her fingers once, twice. “Hey, look at me.” 

Forcing himself to comply, Timmy rolls his head sideways on the back of the couch to face her. 

“Remember the fundraisers you participate in? The arts that you make from your own pockets and sell to donate the proceeds to charity? We make do with what we have. Of course Armie’s would be gigantic, do you know how bad the oil industry is for the environment?” She snorts, her eyes narrowing in the distance like she’s going through the statistics in her head. She probably is. “That is  _ his _ circumstances. Don’t ever say you never made a difference; you helped fund education, training, travel for kids who couldn’t afford their dreams. Do you understand? You contributed to the only lifelines of people like  _ me _ .” 

Timmy is on the verge of tears so he just drops his head on Saoirse’s lap. Her hand automatically ruffles his hair. “I just want to be good enough.” 

“Yeah, I know. You hold yourself to insane standards because your favorite pastime is beating yourself up for being born to parents who wanted to provide you with the best life there is and did. You’re like this with literally everything in your life, from school to music to arts; everything.” She’s speaking softly to him, still stroking his head soothingly. 

“What would I do without you?” Timmy fights down the new wave of insecurity that wants to verbalize itself. He pushes himself upright and nozzles his forehead to her shoulder. “After tonight, please tell me honestly what you think. If I’m hallucinating or delusional, it doesn’t matter.”

Saoirse holds him by the shoulder and moves him away from her, looking eye to eye. “You know I will, but Timmy, you’re good. More than good. Stop thinking that the best thing in your life right now is just a well disguised fluke. Sometimes, people just get to have nice things, okay?”

He nods then a chuckle rips out of him after a moment. “My God, what am I doing? I’m supposed to be here to help you with conditioning.” 

She smiles approvingly at him. “That’s right,” she concedes and they return to their original agenda. 

To make Saoirse feel better, Timmy decided to do the beginner set of cross training exercises. Contrary to his physical appearance, he’s actually pretty athletic, having done ballet growing up and played football for a while. For this reason, he fared much better than Saoirse, who needed at least thirty seconds of interval before moving on to the next exercise. It’s a very telling sign that the strength training would take longer than she’d like, but it would have to do. They finished past lunch, hungry enough to eat again. Saoirse went to rummage her cupboards, gathering whatever she happened to have to make them sandwiches. Timmy made himself useful by making tea. 

“Can we try barre later?” Saoirse asks, taking out slices of turkey from the fridge. “At least I have that, I guess?” She nods towards a metal bar just under her window. 

Timmy walks over and puts his weight on it. “Looks good. You’re going to be dead sore by Happy Hour though.”

Saoirse wrinkles her nose, considering it. “That’s true, but I’d risk it.” She put the sandwiches on a plate and walked over to her living room where she dropped to the floor, sitting. “I’m not going to push it; just trying to get an estimate of how far along I am. I won’t even do it for longer than thirty minutes too, I’m so tired. Come on, have some immaculate cold sandwiches.”

Laughing, Timmy stalks to her side and sits on the floor, stretching his legs under the coffee table. “What happened to your toaster?”

“Gave up on me, fucking traitor. I’d toast it on the pan but I’m lazy.” She gestures to the tray where Timmy left the tea to brew. “Hand the tea over, will you?”

Timmy complies. They hear a loud thud beyond the wall; Saoirse’s neighbors never seem to be mindful that their walls are very thin. “Ah yes, little Chad is finally back from wherever the hell. Is he still as charming as I remember?”

Saoirse snorts so loud he feels the thrum on the floor. “Of course, just listen, Mrs. Sanders would ask him what he’d like to have and make it the most obnoxious conversation ever.”

As if on cue, the neighbors’ voices carried over the thin walls. “Mom? What do we have?” Chad is about ten or eleven and extremely spoiled. Mrs. Sanders’ incessant doting not really helping anyone. 

“Oh darling, you’re home.” There’s a shrilling sound of the chair getting dragged on the floor. “Come, let me get you something. Which one do you like? Glazed, chocolate or strawberry?” She asked, enunciating every word very slowly.

Timmy and Saoirse exchange a look. 

“Huh? What’s that again?” Chad asks loudly, probably responding from the other side of the room. 

Mrs. Sanders repeats the option, slower and more excruciating than the first time she did it. “Glazed, chocolate, or strawberry?”

Saoirse drops her sandwich back to her plate, her face falling into her hands in frustration. “Oh my God, kill it, kill it with a stick!” 

Timmy bursts out laughing, falling on his back and propping himself on his elbows. “Let’s play something, I can’t stand this. I don’t want to bully a mother and child in my head.” He reaches for his satchel and takes the iPad, putting it on full volume. His phone slid out of the bag, falling on the rug. He takes it with him when he sits upright again. 

“Is this your playlist now?” Saoirse scowls at the confusing pop beat in the background.

“No, give me some credit. It’s just Today’s Top Hits or something like that.” Timmy opens his phone, delighted to see messages from Armie more than an hour ago. 

_ From: Armie  _

_ 12:30 _

_ viktor is throwing up in my bathroom rn _

_ From: Armie _

_ 12:31 _

_ he drank too much last night and the elevator ride did this to him. does he think hes still a teenager  _

_ From: Armie  _

_ 12:31 _

_ [see attached image] _

Timmy opens the attachment, his laughter escaping him before he could catch himself. Armie is holding the camera to his face, surprisingly clean-shaven, his gray suit jacket darker in other areas from being wet. His other hand is within the frame in a thumbs up, a man hunched over the toilet bowl in the background. 

“Sorry, Armie just sent a photo of his brother throwing up in his office bathroom.” Timmy supplies when Saoirse glances over at his outburst, confused. 

“It’s the first time you’re seeing his brother and he chose the time he’s barfing?” 

“Like you would resist that opportunity.”

“Well, would you look at that, then? Maybe we’ll get along.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, and welcome to another update because I'm clown as shit! Happy Hour is still on Monday, sadly, and this is... I don't know what to make of this chapter. I wrote this in a dinner with my extended family in the old family house which went as terrific as you would've guessed. (Hint: My eyes would bleed if it could; I wanted to set myself on fire and seep into the ground.) I pretended to be a super busy college student so my kid cousins would not touch an inch of my skin and talk to me in four different languages.

Timmy left Saoirse’s apartment after they utterly failed barre. It turned out that they were too full and started too soon, a loud burp literally ripping out of her before they slid to the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter. They decided to stop at two exercises, Saoirse letting Timmy use the shower first before kicking him out. He’s meeting Armie in his office so they can grab a bite before heading to Happy Hour, having exchanged texts throughout the day like usual. When he steps in the lobby, the receptionist smiles at him and tells him that Mr. Hammer is expecting him. The same flash of intimidation is back in his gut; overwhelmed by the sheer grandiosity of the lobby alone. It made him check himself - as if he could still change out of his white shirt printed with abstract one-line face doodles - and feel much younger and by extension, stupider. If no one from Armie’s company takes him seriously, honestly Timmy wouldn’t blame them. 

Like most CEO offices, Armie’s also has a specific code for the lift go there, which he thankfully provided to Timmy. The last he heard of Armie, the older man is already wrapping up his work. They could just meet wherever, but maybe Timmy wanted to advertise his presence. Totally not childish or petty, but Armie sounded pretty excited about having him come over, so who’s going to call him out? Saoirse, that’s who, but she’s not there, which voids it altogether. 

So yeah, he’s totally not acting like a proper idiot. 

“Timmy!” Jenny beams, standing up from her desk. “I like your shirt.” 

For whatever reason, Timmy blushed, embarrassed with his own style choices. “Thank you, I’m absolutely regretting it.” He deadpans. 

Laughing, Jenny rounds her desk and waves for him to follow her to the door. “Don’t be silly, you look good, but maybe a little-” she reaches out to his hair, tucking a few strands so they fall around his face. “Ah there - oh sorry, was that uncomfortable?” Timmy shakes his head. He’s more confused than offended. “One of the few consolations of my job is seeing Mr. Hammer shocked stupid.” She winks then swings the door open. 

Armie is standing by his desk, half sitting on the edge with a folder in hand. His head whips to the door as soon as it opens, startled by the total disregard for knocking. Timmy steps into the view, unsure of himself despite knowing that Jenny and Armie have a pretty good working relationship. 

“Hey,” he greets weakly, shoving his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t raise it in an awkward wave. 

Armie has changed out of his soaked suit that Timmy saw him wearing in the photo he sent earlier that day. Instead, he’s in a billowy blue shirt, opened a few buttons at the chest, sleeves rolled to his elbow, tucked under a beige tailored slacks, his brown leather belt snug over his hips. The look is very refreshing on him; like he’s much younger and laid back. Jenny pretty much gets her consolation a few seconds after they go in as Armie blinks rapidly at Timmy, giving him a once over until a smile blooms on his face. 

A loud groan came from the corner of the office where the couch was, breaking the moment. “What in the world are you looking at? Puppies?” A paper cup shot up in the air but barely made it past the armchairs. 

Jenny has the good sense to disguise her snort into a cough before speaking “He’s here.” She gives him a pleased smile before leaving the room. 

“Who’s he?” Armie rolls his eyes at the question, dropping the folder on the desk and motioning Timmy forward. 

“I’m sorry you have to see this, but I actually have an ogre.” Armie says, opening his arms for Timmy. 

It’s very different from the last time he was here, so Timmy just walks into Armie’s waiting embrace and drops a reluctant kiss to his cheek. 

“Wait, no, what the fuck? Armie!” 

Armie keeps his arm around Timmy, his torso falling forward on his shoulder as he laughs. “You’ve heard of my brother, Viktor.” Armie finally says, his hand gesturing across the room. “This is Timmy,” he adds, barely finishing the introduction before he’s laughing again. 

Turning towards the direction, Timmy finds a man sprawled on the couch, disheveled and limp. “Hi?” 

“This is all so fucking hilarious to you.” Viktor growls, sitting up with a lot of effort. His head immediately falls into the heels of his palms, but at least he’s upright. Shaking his head, he finally says “See the piece of work that Armie is? He’s - oh -” his sentence cuts off as soon as his stare lands on Timmy. A flash of amusement immediately covers his face before continuing “So it’s you! If it was up to me I’d meet you under better circumstances but my brother just  _ had _ to introduce us when I’m shitfaced.” 

Timmy allows himself to laugh, still in shock from the disorienting state of the office to come up with a quip. He feels Armie’s hand settle on the small of his back and he looks up, catching Armie checking him out. Timmy elbows him slightly. “Still, nice to meet you. Armie  _ is _ a jackass, sadly.”

“Actually, I  _ didn’t _ set this up. I’ve been kicking you out for six hours.” Armie protests, then pinches Timmy lightly on the flank before stepping away to gather his brother’s tie and jacket. “It’s past five, you should head home. I already called Tom.” 

“Fuck, my backlogs are going to give me fresh migraines tomorrow.” Viktor says, taking his clothes and hanging them on his shoulder. 

Armie waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t. Just sleep this one off. Do you need a hand?” 

Viktor pushes himself to his feet, wobbly but manageable. “Should I just sleep here until closing? I don’t think I’d live through the elevator ride to the parking basement.” 

“No, please, get out of my office. If you throw up here I’d mop it with your hair.” Armie is still standing a pace away from Viktor, ready to catch him if he trips. 

Laughing, Viktor takes the jacket on his shoulder and swings it at Armie. “You sure you want to deal with this asshole?” He asks Timmy, who thankfully retained his brain functions as he watched the brothers interact. 

“I’ve been known for my unending patience,” Timmy answers with the fakest smile. Should anyone ask, Timmy would easily admit that he’s one of the most impatient people he knows. 

Armie snorts then eyes him, and Timmy knows, judging by the shit-eating gleam in Armie’s eyes, that he’s thinking about their date yesterday. 

Sputtering, Viktor stumbles away from the furniture and hobbles to the door. “Oh my God! I’m still right here! Give me a second, will you? My head is fucking splitting.” He spins around, looking for something. “Where’s my bag?” 

“Bathroom sink.” 

“My laptop is in there.” 

“No one used the tap.” 

Timmy watched the brothers scowl at each other, Armie clearly enjoying himself more than Viktor who just looked resigned and frustrated. He blows out a huff and limps towards the bathroom, massaging his temples as he goes. 

Armie picks up the cup and tosses it straight into the bin before he walks over to Timmy, smiling down as they stand face to face. “For what it’s worth, I really don’t mean to introduce you two like this.”

“I know, but you sure as hell enjoyed yourself.” Rolling his eyes, Timmy pokes Armie on the sternum. 

Armie catches his hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “You know it,” he answers cheekily. He leans on the edge of the desk again, half-sitting, tugging Timmy to stand between his outstretched legs. “Where do you want to grab a bite?” 

Timmy shrugs, putting his hands on Armie’s thighs and rubbing absently. “Anything’s good. Where do you usually go?” 

“My sustenance comes from the cafe.” Armie answers, nonchalant. 

“Sounds good,” Timmy is slightly swaying again, almost giddy and definitely full of butterflies. 

Feigning outrage, Armie gasps. “What if it’s not up to your authentic tastes?” 

Timmy swats Armie lightly on the thigh. “Don’t be silly; I’m American, too.” 

Armie just scrunches his nose at him and tilts his head up. “I know, I just like to tease you.”

“Hmm, I bet.” Charmed, Timmy leans down to Armie’s lips then pulls back, laughing when he huffs disappointedly before kissing him lightly. “Nuh-uh, no getting carried away.” He makes a gesture towards the general direction of the bathroom and earns a groan. 

“I should’ve rolled him out of my office when he first threw up this morning.” Armie whines, though he doesn’t truly look the least bit bothered. He sneaks another close-mouthed peck, eyes darting to the bathroom when he sees Viktor’s figure emerging through the door. “Tell Tom to drive you somewhere to get takeouts. And for the love of God, drink  _ water _ .” 

Viktor’s eyes are barely open, looking at Timmy and Armie standing together by the desk blearily. “Yeah, yeah, but can you text him still? I think I’m going to pass out on the backseat.”

Armie nods, immediately fishing his phone out and sending the text. “Need a hand?” He asks again.

“Nah, the room looks slightly tilted but at least it’s not spinning. I’ll manage.” He waves at them, turning towards the door. “Nice to meet you, Timmy. I’m generally much less of an idiot than Armie is, but he won’t tell you that.” 

“I’m sure you’re right.” Timmy stays between Armie’s legs and just twists his torso to talk to Viktor. He doesn’t feel self-conscious around Viktor now that he’s adjusted to his presence; he’s a lot like Armie in that he’s good-natured and casual despite their stature. 

Armie just snorts when he sees Timmy and Viktor exchange a grin. He stands up and points his index finger between them. “No, you’re not ganging up on me five minutes after introduction.”

Timmy chuckles and steps away, Armie’s hands automatically chasing him and land around his hip. He stands beside Armie, enjoying the touch. “You totally should’ve chosen a better opportunity to introduce us.” 

“I know right? I have so  _ much _ crap I’m willing to spill at Armie’s expense.” Viktor drawls, shooting Armie a teasing grin. 

“Oh fuck off,” Armie laughs but doesn’t look alarmed. “We’re going down this hill together and you know it.” 

Viktor snorts, phone in hand. “I don’t care at this point man, you sent your boyfriend a picture of me throwing up, no face to save here anymore.” He nods towards Timmy, then back to Armie. “I’ll leave you two to break a bunch of office etiquettes, bye!” He gestures vaguely at them before he walks out the door. 

Timmy is a little mentally going on overdrive at being referred to as Armie’s boyfriend, but manages a weak wave. He feels Armie nosing the side of his cheek, a smile pressed to his jaw. “Shall we?” He asks, ready to leave for the cafe. 

“Break office etiquettes? Hell yeah,” Timmy squealed and giggled when Armie suddenly came over him, hands running up his flanks before crossing his arms on his back. 

“No, food!” Timmy barely gets the protest out between his laughter, his body arched backwards from the onslaught of Armie nuzzling his neck and jaw then up to the sides of his face. 

Armie puts a distance between their faces, their faces leveled. “Technically, I usually get off in ten minutes.” He makes a show of glancing at his watch. “Let’s make out,” he finishes as he captures Timmy’s mouth. 

Timmy is pretty much powerless to resist, tapping Armie’s arms to loosen around his torso so he can hop up to sit on the desk. Armie catches on immediately, fitting himself snugly between his legs. Without missing a beat, Armie latches on Timmy’s neck, peppering kisses up to his jaw. Timmy notes the slight roughness on Armie’s face, the telltale signs of his facial hair returning and scratching at his skin. He laughs, then takes Armie’s face into his hands so they can kiss, but for some reasons they burst into a fit of giggles, their teeth clashing as they grin on each other’s mouths. Playfully, Timmy nibbles on Armie’s bottom lip, which he reiterates by darting his tongue out and licking Timmy’s upper lip. They laugh again and Armie collapses in his arms, embracing him. 

Standing upright, Armie leans back on the desk half-sitting beside Timmy then drops a kiss on his shoulder. “Nice shirt.” 

Timmy scoffs. “It’s fucking ridiculous, is what it is.” He responds then looks Armie up and down. “You, on the other hand…”

“Ooh, you like?” Armie blushed but stood up anyway, giving Timmy a good view. 

Jumping off the desk, Timmy walks up to Armie and wraps his arms around his waist. “Yup, has anyone told you blue is your color?” 

“Nope, but of course you’d think that.” They kissed again, lighter this time. 

“Right? Don’t be asking someone else for fashion advice now.” Timmy chides, planting his chin on Armie’s chest. 

Not passing up on the chance, Armie drops a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Ask someone else? When I have you?” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I know I have my moments but I’m not  _ that  _ big an idiot.”

“Good,” Timmy grins, pleased with the answer and finally stepped away to break apart. “Now let’s go, you need food in you.”

If Armie tugged Timmy to his lap on the armchair in front of his desk to make out some more, then that’s their business. At least they straightened their shirts and combed their hair to look as presentable as they could. Armie has his briefcase at hand, then thinks the better of it and just shoves his wallet, keys and phone in his pockets. Timmy is standing on the other side of the desk, smoothing his curls down after Armie raked his hands through it. Their eyes meet momentarily, then burst out laughing. It hadn’t been that long since Timmy was a teenager so he still remembers the thrill of a shiny new thing that seemed to keep his heart beating faster in his chest all throughout. He never thought he’d have it again in his jaded adulthood, but here he is, giggling as Armie crosses the distance between them to put his lips on his. 

“Ready to have confusing fusion food at the cafe?” Armie asks with a smile, his arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Absolutely thrilled. Lead the way.” Timmy laughs again, and they walk out of the office side by side, Armie’s hand still on the small of his back as they make their way to the cafe. 

Just like the last time Timmy was there, he still finds it fascinating how Armie gets along with everyone. They said their goodbyes to Jenny, who looked at Armie totally unimpressed but sniggered at Timmy. Armie took the time to make small talk with the few people still on his floor before stepping into the elevator. For a second, Timmy looks up at Armie, watchful, he raises his finger torturously slow to close the door. He feels a blush creep up his cheek, looking away, but still sees Armie staring him down intensely from the reflection in the wrap-around mirror. 

Sighing, Timmy beats Armie to punching the door close. “If you’re going to make out with me in this elevator, you better commit fast.” 

Armie’s face lights up then erupts into laughter, crowding Timmy in the corner and kissing him soundly. Instead of pushing him up against the wall, Armie just takes him in his arms, then moves Timmy so they stand chest to back when they stop kissing, hugging him in the middle. 

“Oh, this is wholesome.” Timmy melts into the back-hug, dropping his head on Armie’s shoulder to kiss his cheek. “I like this, too.” 

Armie bends down a bit so he can bump his face on Timmy’s. “I’m glad.”

Timmy laughs, feeling the grumble between their bodies. “Same,” he agrees. 

“I’m happy.” Armie states, plain and simple. 

If Timmy’s stomach being perpetually filled with butterflies and his heart rate never coming down were his primary sensations since coming here, then anyone can safely bet that he’s not prepared for when his knees buckled beneath him. He wriggles in Armie’s embrace so he can turn and put his arms around his neck, scratching at the back of his head. “I am happy, too.” 

Armie must know by now since it’s pretty obvious, but Timmy guesses it really does make a difference to hear it said out loud. The smile started from his eyes, lighting up and softening, then his lips pulled upwards into a wide grin. He takes a deep breath, putting their foreheads together. “Good, good,” he starts, breath stuttering, then he chuckles. “That’s all I want.” 

Timmy goes up on his tiptoes so they can press closer and Armie makes the decision for him as he leans down to his mouth, closing the distance. They take a moment to look at each other after breaking the kiss, the loop of positive tenderness and affection going steadily until they giggled into each other’s mouth, and finally having the sense to break apart just in time for the elevator door to open. There is a respectable amount of distance between them when two young adult women step in, though it’s clear that Timmy is still within Armie’s personal space. There wasn’t a visible consciousness in Armie’s face when his hand reached out to settle on the small of Timmy’s back again, as if always needing them to be touching somehow. He greets the women by their names, making small talk. 

“Kayla, Shannon,” he nods to each and smiles. “How’s the intern doing?” 

If Timmy followed the greeting correctly, the redhead who answered Armie is Shannon. “It’s quite a complicated situation with that one, right?” She looks over to Kayla who ponders for a moment and chuckles apprehensively. 

Armie frowns, confused, though not entirely worried. “What do you mean?” 

Kayla touches her watch twists it around; a nervous tick. “He’s pretty good, you know for graphic designing and advertising and all that.” She scratches her collarbone, unsure if she should tell on the intern to their boss. “He’s just not very good, on everything else?” 

Shannon laughed at the phrasing. Armie even exchanged a look with Timmy, at a loss of what’s going on in their floor. “He’s all over the place if you make him do literally anything else other than design and ads.” 

“Talking?” Armie asks, testing the waters. 

Shannon and Kayla giggled together, then shrugged at Armie. 

“Talking?” Armie repeats, disbelieving. 

“Maybe he just needs time to warm up. He’s always on edge.” Shannon shrugs, reading the elevator buttons. “Lobby?” 

Armie nods but gestures them to go first. They exchanged goodbyes once they were all out of the lift, and Armie and Timmy finally walked to the cafe to get food. “Justin is a new intern at their floor; advertising. He’s somehow good and bad at the same time.” Armie shakes his head, opening the door for Timmy to come into the establishment. 

The smell of coffee hits them as they enter, though Timmy regrets that coffee in America never quite tasted as good as the ones he gets to have in France and Italy. He’s gotten used to it over the years of growing up into the lifestyle of flying back and forth, yet still one of the first things he saved up for was an espresso machine. When they stood in front of the counter, they were greeted by the barista who served Timmy when he first came over for lunch. Tanya, he recalls. 

Tanya’s eyes go past Timmy and she beams at Armie, recognizing him instantly. She startles for a moment, and Timmy realizes that she’s staring at him, probably trying to make out where she saw him last. The memory seems to reach her after a few moments, her hand flying to her lips as she gasps. “Oh, oh!” She points back and forth between Armie and Timmy, who just looked at each other and chuckled. “Lunch date guy!” 

Timmy’s head tilts, surprised that he has a nickname in her head and amused by it. Armie’s laugh came in a huff, and he beat Timmy to speaking first. Trust him to always have a quip or two about anything. “ _ Lunch date guy? _ ” He repeats, nudging Timmy’s shoulder with his own. 

“Yeah, not with you, though.” Timmy answers quickly, glad that their shared intoxicating intimacy from the office to the lift did not permanently damage his wit. 

Armie flails at his side a bit, indignant, though the shine in his eyes easily shows that he knows better. “ _ Not me?”  _ He parrots back, taking Timmy’s elbow and tugging him to face him. 

“Are you going to repeat everything you hear? I wasn’t aware we’re doing Jafar and his bird today.” Armie pouts at Timmy’s snark, shameless. Laughing, Timmy keeps his finger pointed to Armie’s face as he turns to talk to Tanya. “So his order makes sense now.” 

Tanya giggles, but there’s a certain amazement in her eyes as she watches them interact. Timmy wonders what part of it all was new; Armie and having a date hanging around the office. She breaks her trance with subtle shake. “As do all things in due time,” she replies in a charismatic way that baristas always seem to possess. “What can I get you today?” 

Armie nods at Timmy, indicating that his order be taken first. Tanya turns to him, waiting. “I’ll have the almond pretzel and a…” He trails off, struggling with the drink and figures he’ll just take it as a treat. “Flat white,” he finishes. 

“Almond pretzel and a flat white,” she repeats, punching the order on the screen. “Are you having that here?” 

“Yep,” Armie says and Timmy feels his hand on his back again. He smiles and leans his body towards the touch. “That’s it?” He looks at Timmy, questioning, who only shrugs. “Alright. I’ll have my usual coffee, the pastrami sandwich, and an éclair - no, make that two.” 

“Two éclair?” Timmy repeats, wanting to tease, but Armie meets his eyes with the same look. “What?” 

“You looked like you’d want one when you heard it.” Armie answers casually. “Put it on my tab, yeah?” He tells Tanya, who just nods like it’s automatic. 

They moved to get a seat, because when you’re on a date with the owner your food gets served to you rather than fetched on the bar. They’re lucky enough to get a table at the cozier side of the cafe, and if Timmy is utterly pleased that Armie slides on the same side of the table instead of across, he at least tries not to show it so much. Tanya even brought the tray herself, pleasant and charming as always. 

“Ah finally; a peaceful meal.” Armie sighs, sipping his coffee before slicing his sandwich. 

Timmy watches him, fascinated by his routine as always and eager to learn more. He takes a piece of his pretzel and brings it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I thought it’s not a lot of work today?” 

“I jinxed it.” Armie answers with a regretful shake of his head. “Viktor in that, uh,  _ state _ of his,” he wrinkles his nose, unwilling to explicitly refer to it when they’re eating. “I took some urgent stuff from his office and did it. Excuse me for this but it’s tough to eat while he does his business.” 

Chuckling, Timmy puts a hand on his back and rubs soothingly. “Well then, eat up. It’s the most important meal of the day.” 

“What? Early dinner?” 

“No; the meal you have before drinking.” 

Armie snorts. “Of course,” he agrees solemnly. 

They went through their food while chatting mindlessly. It’s significantly pacified and controlled, though Timmy can tell that the air between them is still pretty charged. He also notes how Armie seems to like sharing food, and Timmy suspects it’s probably a love language. They feed each other the first bites, but thankfully spare the cafe the show and just take pieces off of the plate of the other, comfortable and easy. Timmy talks about Saoirse and ballet, Armie looking suspiciously interested. He rolls his eyes, swatting Armie on the shoulder who just laughs and kisses him on the top of his head to make up for it. Timmy teases him, and he just teases back, drinking the rest of their coffee. Before leaving, Timmy takes out a bill and puts it in the tip jar, waving at Tanya as they went. 

“This feels familiar,” Armie quips as they stand together on the side of the road, hailing a cab. 

“Only slightly.” Timmy answers, smiling up to Armie. 

Reaching out, Armie tugs at the sling on Timmy’s shoulder, measuring the weight of his satchel. “What’s in the bag?” He teases gently, curious. “It’s quite heavy.” 

Timmy scrunches his nose, his lower back acutely aware. “My iPad, some sheets and clothes I changed out before coming here.”

“And you’re bringing it to Happy Hour.” Armie’s brow is raised at him, inquisitive. 

“Not my smartest moment, I’ll admit.” Sighing, Timmy moves the bag to his other shoulder, feeling a bit sore. 

“We can swing by my place first, drop that off there,” he lifts his wrist to check the time. “It’s just seven.”

Armie looks genuine enough when he offers, but Timmy just likes being a little shit. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to get me in your apartment?” 

Because he’s a little shit himself, Armie feigns caution by looking around, then wiggling his eyebrows at him suggestively. Timmy shoves him playfully but Armie just catches his hand and pulls him to his chest. “No, really.” 

“I know, I’m just pulling your leg.” Timmy laughs, hailing a cab. “Smart moment for you though, I have to admit.”

“Right? I knew it.” Armie grins at him and opens the car door for him. 

For an additional touch, Timmy pulls him by the shirt into the backseat, Armie going without a fight and falling into the car, laughing. He recites his address to the driver who just nods wordlessly and drives away. The distance between the company and his place doesn’t seem a lot, but the traffic definitely doesn’t help. It’s that time of the day when offices are closing and people are rushing out for dinner or drinks, maybe both. Armie opens his phone on his side, calling Viktor who doesn’t pick up. Scowling at the screen, Armie cussed his brother as he left a voicemail, making Timmy laugh. He calls his driver, Tom, next, asking about his brother. To kill time, Timmy takes out his sheets and iPad, comparing them side by side and reviewing the composition. Armie’s eyes flashed over to him before focusing. He looks interested in a way that floods Timmy with sudden shyness and an urge to show off. Unfortunately, Armie is still on the phone, making sure his brother is alive and well. Assured with the piece he has, Timmy puts it back in his satchel, just as Armie hangs up. 

“What was that?” Armie asks, curious. 

Naturally, Timmy leads him on. “Musical sheets,” he responds simply, his smile barely suppressed. 

“What for? You have a performance anytime soon?” Armie prods. 

“Nope, it’s private composition.” 

Armie narrows his eyes at him. “Really,” he says slowly. 

“Yup,” Timmy ducks his head to look outside the window as the cab pulls over. Before he could take his wallet out, Armie is already handing the fare, telling the driver to keep the rest. 

The apartment building is just as luxurious as Timmy would expect, which is a notch grander than the usual standards of the uptown high society. It’s polished and modern, similar to the general vibe of Armie’s office, and Timmy took note of the pattern. It makes him feel like he’s getting a good idea of Armie’s general taste. The sight of the elevator immediately reminds them of when they were at the company and they exchange glances as they enter, holding in their giggles as other tenants ride along with them. 

Timmy was nearly expecting them to get off on the penthouse suite, but thankfully Armie leads him to a usual corridor instead, opening the sleek door at the end of the hallway. It’s as muted and minimalist as Armie’s office, and at this point Timmy is almost absolutely sure that it’s his taste. 

Strutting confidently in his space, Armie says “What? Didn’t expect me to be neat?” 

“I actually did.” And it’s the truth. Armie couldn’t have held everything together if he doesn’t have an impeccable discipline and sense of responsibility. Timmy hovers his satchel over Armie’s couch, asking, and he just motions him to go ahead. 

Unable to help himself, Timmy gravitates towards the bookshelf, looming and enormous. He’s pleasantly surprised with the range that he finds, from non-fiction to classical. 

“See something you like?” He hears Armie ask, but he’s too occupied to come up with a smart-ass answer.

Timmy hums in response, offhanded. He traces the spines of the volumes, fascinated by the unexpected selection and smug that he knew a lot of it. “Give me a title,” he blurts, and whether or not there’s a hint of challenge there, he leaves it for Armie to decide. 

*******

Armie holds Timmy’s gaze across the living room, his back on him but twisted at the torso towards him, giving Armie a view to his stunning profile. He wonders momentarily if Timmy felt yesterday the same amazement that Armie has now as he watches the younger man explore his home. It’s ironic somehow, with the brightness and character of Timmy’s space, that he would look like he belongs perfectly here in Armie’s dark and polished apartment. It certainly doesn’t help that Timmy automatically moves around the room, his stride confident as he makes his way to the shelf. Armie could tell even at a distance that Timmy is both amused and surprised with his collection, and he has no doubt in his mind that he probably has read more than half of it already. 

Armie watches Timmy’s eyes flutter from his side profile; completely enthralled at the sight. “Give me a title,” Timmy says, eyes fixing him with a poised gaze. 

Instinctively, Armie straightens up, feeling a sudden need to rise to a challenge even if it’s not verbalized. He has no intention of exhausting the ends of Timmy’s genius; that, he has no doubt of. Instead, Armie picks a book that will lead the conversation to the direction he wants and hopefully can handle. “The Little Prince,” he answers. 

Timmy fully turns to him, then back to the shelf, looking for it. He pulls the spine from the shelf then claps it on his palm, unopened. “ _ The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, _ ” he says, eyes trained on the book cover and translating the English text into French. “Why?” He asks. 

“It speaks to me,” Armie shrugs, pleased to hold Timmy’s curiosity. 

“It’s a children’s book.” Timmy reminds him with amusement in his eyes, though his tone doesn’t seem to mean anything by it. 

Walking over to the armchair near the shelf, Armie gives another nonchalant shrug to Timmy, leaning down to press his hands on the back of the seat. “I said what I said.” When Timmy’s eyes flashed, Armie couldn’t help the smirk on his lips, pleased that he matched the challenging undertone that Timmy used on him when he asked for a title. 

“What part of it, if I may ask?” Timmy leans sideways to the bookshelf, pressing his shoulder to the frame. 

“You may,” Armie concedes, reciting the quotation in his head to make sure he has it before saying it while looking Timmy in the eyes. “'People where you live grow five thousand roses in one garden. Yet they don't find what they're looking for. And yet what they're looking for could be found in a single rose.'” 

_ I don’t think I’ve found happiness like this until I’ve known you, _ Armie had wanted to say, but he knows that all the words that he can manage will never capture his feelings as it is. The quotation is close, not quite, but he’ll take it. He doesn’t think he remembers the last time someone made his heart stop and restart, to the point that he’ll almost believe that he never experienced it. Yet now, as he watches Timmy’s face morph into controlled shock - like he didn’t want to react fully but couldn’t help it - his throat tightens and he prays that he says something, just so the beating in his chest could subside. He swallows then, wishing Timmy accepts what he’s trying to say in literature that he knows is as good as Timmy’s mother tongue. 

The moment Armie sees the recognition in Timmy’s eyes, he blows out a huff of air, not really aware that he held his breath. Timmy, maddeningly enough, is still holding back his emotions. “ _ 'People where you live grow five thousand roses in one garden. Yet they don't find what they're looking for. And yet what they're looking for could be found in a single rose.’ _ ” He speaks in French, and Armie assumes he translated the passage. 

A moment passes, Armie once again unaware that he’s holding his breath until it rips out of him when Timmy finally drops his mask, the shine in his eyes blooming all across his face; delighted at Armie’s bold admission. He feels utterly helpless under Timmy’s revering stare and he can only stand where he is, leaving the decision to the other man. 

One of the many things that intrigue Armie about Timmy is how he seems to always know, always understand. Wordlessly, he returns the book where he finds it and closes the distance between them.  _ He knows, _ Armie thought, torn between exhilaration and blinding anxiety. 

When he finally speaks, it’s in French again, turning Armie’s stomach positively in knots, wrecked with anticipation. “ _ ‘You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’ _ ” Timmy, the little shit that he is, seems to relish the utter trepidation on Armie’s face, before finally translating. “‘You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’”

Manic with relief, Armie laughs, his body shaking with it, before reaching out to Timmy to pull him in an embrace.  _ I am. I will be, _ Armie thinks, tightening his grip. With the way that Timmy clutches him back, he’s pretty sure that he understood that too. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: I’ll tell you this much; I have no fucking idea why this chapter turned out as confusing as it did lmao. So I’m sorry, but this is easily the messiest update I’ve ever written. Honestly, I wish I’m joking, but it’s absolutely all over the place. Update in 3 business days max, as always.

Timmy enters the pub with renewed certainty, his fingers laced into Armie’s and his other hand still clutching at the man’s biceps. They didn’t stay long in the apartment after his breathtaking confession, but Armie had wanted to get some snacks, which was how Timmy ended up sitting on the kitchen island; feet swinging as Armie eats two packets of mixed nuts and fruits and feeds Timmy occasionally. There was nothing left to be said; not about them, that much Timmy knows for sure. It was as if Armie opened the dam and the whole valley flooded. He looks at Timmy with unflinching focus and affection that he’s dizzy with it, almost weakened at the knees and definitely ending up putting his body weight on Armie. He’s absolutely floored by it all. 

“Will you perform something too?” Armie leans down to his ear to ask the question, the noise overpowering any normal conversation. 

Following his stare, Timmy finds a group rounded together by the band, breaking out into a song. “Patience, patience,” he quips, thrilled by Armie’s continued interest. 

“I wouldn’t mind a private one though,” Armie jumps when Timmy pinches him trough his shirtsleeves, though he doubts that it truly hurts when Armie all but flexed in shock and his arm went rigid. “What?! I’m just saying!” He protests, laughing. 

Timmy blinks through the haze in his head and rolls his eyes, pushing away the thought that Armie can absolutely lift him in one arm and possibly throw him or something. “You’re around New York’s performing society. Represent the conglomerates well.” 

“Ah hell no,” Armie scowls. “Whatever their negative opinions are, they’re probably right.” 

“Not with you though.” Timmy says, snuggling closer as he hugs him by the arm. 

When Armie scrunches his nose, Timmy already knows he’ll argue against it. “I’m capitalizing on the old ways to _try_ and make a change.” 

“Nonsense,” Timmy dismissed him. He wishes he could say more about it to assure Armie that what he’s been doing matters, but he knows better than to bring it up now. Instead, he looks through the crows until he finds Saoirse. “There’s Sersh. Ready to meet her? She’s Irish and perpetually annoyed.” 

“Lovely.” Armie responds as he traces the direction where Timmy is pointing. “Is it the blonde one in black dress?” 

Timmy is already dragging him by the arm when he answers. “Yup, that’s her. She’ll try to eat and drink everything she can fit in her body because of ballet, so if she’s stealing your food mind your business.” He hears Armie chuckle as he trails behind. “Sersh!” 

Saoirse turns her head, finding him immediately. She waves excitedly then drops her smile when she sees Armie. Excusing herself from the group, she moves across the crowd to meet them halfway. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.” 

“Oh please, it’s what, nine?” Timmy looks to Armie who’s already looking at his watch, nodding. 

“Wow, you trained him well.” Saoirse comments, looking at Armie. 

Timmy mock-glares at her and releases Armie. He expected this behavior but couldn’t help himself. “Funny, you witch,” he says and Saoirse looks back to him, sniggering. “Armie, this is Saoirse. Sersh, Armie.” 

Armie, with his perfect manners, offers his hand, smiling. “Armie,” he starts. “Nice to finally meet you.” 

Saoirse speaks, raising her hand so Armie wouldn’t withdraw his but not stretching it to shake either. “Education? Job?” 

“Sersh!” Timmy gasps, scandalized.

Saoirse holds a finger up to his face, silencing him. Armie looked momentarily startled but laughed anyway, good natured as always. 

“MBA, Columbia University. CEO.” Armie answers, turning his outstretched palm as if asking Saoirse if she reconsidered. 

It’s obvious in her eyes that she was amused with how Armie handled it but didn’t give in right away. “Ooh, hotshot. Aren’t you too good for this?” 

Armie makes a show of sighing sadly. “My brother threw up on me this morning so I had to mop a lot of it.” 

Saoirse erupts into laughter at the easy admission, finally taking Armie’s hand and shaking it. “I hope Timmy briefed you that you might do it again here.” She released his hand, though the look in her eyes tells Timmy that she’s not done milking the moment. “So, you’re the _date_ for tonight.”

There wasn’t even a flinch or a speck of worry in Armie at the implication. “ _Dating,_ ” he gently corrects. 

“Exclusively?” Saoirse crosses her arms, still prodding. 

“Very,” Armie confirms, shifting his weight to his foot so he stands leaning towards Timmy, probably wanting to touch but doesn’t want to look overbearing. 

Saoirse raises a brow to Timmy, daring. “Mutually agreed, I hope.” She glances around, hinting. 

Timmy knows, intellectually, that between the two of them Armie would be more reasonably expected to be uneasy, especially since he admitted to having history with a handful of people who may be at Happy Hour tonight. It goes both ways though, and Timmy knows that these people are madly attractive and unimaginably more talented than him. It could be anyone, could happen anytime. Most importantly, the tender moment where Armie laid his heart out in the open was too fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t help the surge of possessiveness, couldn’t help the irritation that someone could have it from Armie as he did. 

“Uh-huh,” his tongue is pushing the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed in mild annoyance. 

Armie finally reaches out to him, laughing lightly and putting his hand on the middle of his back. “What’s gotten to you?” 

“Sersh bursting my bubble,” he openly scowls at her, though lacking the real heat that rose up in his chest for a moment, grounded by the caress on the back. 

“I was just checking.” Saoirse tells Armie, conspiring. 

Surprised by the change in tide, Armie asks “For what, exactly?” 

“Timmy’s commitment.” Saoirse answers with a shrug. 

“And why am I the lucky one?” Armie asks, confused by Saoirse’s priorities, expecting _his_ commitment to be questioned.

“Just the way you look at him,” she says, offhanded, her eyes already gazing at a distance, then waves up in the air. “Hey!” 

Timmy turns to look at Armie, thrilled by Saoirse’s observation and wanting to see it himself. Armie is still facing her though, slightly taken aback but not negatively affected. Finally, his eyes move to Timmy and catches him staring. 

“You already know how I see you.” Armie says softly. 

“It’s different when someone else says it. I could be dreaming it for all I know.” Timmy reasons, soaking up Armie’s earnest gaze. 

He moves into his space and tugs him lightly, Timmy coming willingly so Armie can press a kiss on his forehead. “Hmm, pretty real, I’d say.” 

If it were all just up to him, Timmy would take Armie away from the crowd and be done with the night. Unfortunately, it is not entirely up to him, so he just settles with nuzzling his forehead to Armie’s jaw before catching his lips in a quick kiss. 

Saoirse’s eyes momentarily flitted to them, then she grimaced. “Ugh, you two.” She grumbles, then turns her gaze back to the person she greeted across the room and moves away. 

Timmy is frozen on his tiptoes but not even the slightest bit apologetic. He feels Armie’s breath before he hears him laugh, and joins him immediately after. He sees Saoirse standing behind Armie, waiting to meet his eyes. Raising a brow in question, Timmy hooks his chin on Armie’s shoulder just to keep him from turning. Saoirse looks over to Armie, her own eyebrows moving up her forehead, then gives Timmy an approving nod. He rolled his eyes at her; _I know,_ he wanted to say. She suppressed a giggle then mocked him with a pout before finally going her merry way. 

“Come, maybe we’ll get lucky and put in a request.” Timmy says, looking over the performance before he could change his mind and just ditch Happy Hour altogether. 

“What would you request?” Armie laces their fingers and allows Timmy to drag him along. 

“Something obnoxious. I’ll try my luck with Supalonely. Drinks?” Timmy greets an acquaintance in their booth, not really sure if his name is Jackson or Jonathan, but they worked together - distantly, in his defense - for a slightly major performance at the theater two blocks down. “Hey, how’s gig hunting treating you?” 

The guy, who Timmy would now refer to as J, automatically has a hand reaching for the bucket when he speaks, then sees Armie and grabs two beers instead. “Great, great. I have a contract for an off-Broadway production.” He passes the bottles as he answers. “This guy’s new. Would I know him?” The three other people in the booth are also looking at them, curious. 

Timmy takes the beer and gives the other to Armie. “My date, Armie.” 

“Hey man,” Armie raises the beer slightly. He nods to the other three as well. “Armie,” he added. 

“Jeremy,” the guy supplies, making Timmy wince internally. “Tasha, my sister, Gloria - she’s our boss - her husband Randall, musical conductor.” Armie follows the quick introduction, waving back and acknowledging. “New at the scene? What’s your field?” 

Armie scrunches his nose slightly. “Not from around here at all,” he says with a chuckle. “I work a corporate job.” 

It was the biggest understatement he’s heard that night. Timmy is aware that Armie knows better than to advertise, but he’s still amused by the severe downplaying. It says a lot about his character too, though with that one Timmy barely has any doubts of. After all, he has seen Armie in his own company, well-liked and respected by everyone. 

Jeremy looks at him, ready to tease. “You snagged yourself a nine-to-five guy!” 

“What a perfect world it would’ve been if he really just gets off by five.” Timmy laments with an eye roll and Armie falls on his shoulder, laughing. 

“Oh this has been on for a while, huh?” Jeremy notes, watching them. “Good for you, Timmy. Do you want to sit down? Luca is just-” he makes a vague gesture towards the open space of the bar. “Somewhere there. He’ll come back in a bit.” 

Choosing to ignore the comment, Timmy decides to set aside the quest to torment the artists by the band so he can catch Luca. “Mind if we stay a bit? Luca is a director and a friend of mine, also a faculty in Juilliard.” 

“Please,” Armie gestures to the booth and they slide in, sitting close but not quite snug. 

“Jeremy!” Saoirse’s booming voice carries over through the noise, her arms stretched out in front of her paces away from the booth. Jeremy laughs and leans back on his seat, giving her a view of his sister. “Tasha!” Saoirse gasps, and they squealed at each other. 

Tasha pushes Jeremy out of the booth, rising to their feet and hugging Saoirse. Timmy is familiar with all this already; he’s gone to countless Happy Hours over the years since college. Right now, he’s more interested in seeing how Armie takes in his crowd; one loud, passionate person after the other. Timmy wouldn’t even blame him if he’s uncomfortable. He understands that it can be more than overwhelming, and on top of it all Armie is an odd one out, whereas everyone knows everyone. 

Rather than looking awkward and stiff, Armie is watching the interactions with fascination. He even has an easy smile on his face, lips slightly red and shiny from taking a gulp of his beer. He almost seems to always naturally gravitate towards Timmy, his body slanted to his direction, shoulders relax but not entirely limp. He looks comfortable, but with enough awareness that anyone could be watching him. Timmy wonders if it’s practiced or instinctive. He seems to be paying attention too, smiling at the friendly banter between Saoirse, Jeremy and Tasha. 

“So, Timothée,” he hears Randall speak and he feels Armie turn his attention to them. “What have you been up to lately?” 

Timmy shrugs, not really sure how to put it. “Mainly working with the academe right now. The production is already on dry-run so just minimal revisions from there. I’m considering grad school at the moment, so lots of freelancing to gauge how to finance that.” 

“Hard to establish your footing, eh?” Gloria asks. 

“Sure is,” Timmy agrees. “I’m lucky to land generous jobs, but you know how it is.” 

“When will you consider an agency, darling?” Gloria jokingly points between herself and Randall, making him laugh. 

“You’re the first one to know if I’d want one.” Timmy assures them. 

Randall nods along, unfazed. “Don’t listen to Gloria, it’s a luxury in our job to be in full control of where you throw around your flair.” 

“Oh but look at his face, Randall. From Juilliard, too!” Gloria whines, but not insistent. “Promise you’ll go to me if you finally change your mind.” 

Timmy has gotten used to going in circles over the same conversation every time they meet, but he indulges them anyway. “I promise,” he nods solemnly. 

Saoirse moves to kiss Gloria’s cheeks then reaches a hand to Randall. She exchanged a few words with Gloria before making way for Jeremy and Tasha to slide back into the booth and then sitting next to them. 

“So, young man, Armie, is that right?” Randall steers the conversation, considerate of the new company. Armie nods attentively, leaning forward on the table. “Where do you work for?” 

Timmy controls his face as he watches the two men; Armie leagues better than him as he just shrugs with an easygoing grin. “Uptown district. Import and export, oil, engine too.” He explains briefly. 

“What did you say your name was once again?” Randall asks, confused by the variation in answer and suspecting.

“I didn’t,” Armie says, his smile wider now. Timmy assumes it’s a usual occurrence and he already knows where it’s going. “Armie Hammer.” 

Gloria perks up, curious. “ _Armand Hammer?_ Los Angeles?” 

Armie gestures with his hand, confirming. “Great grandfather.” 

Everyone on the table is now looking at Armie differently, dumbfounded by the connection. 

Laughing, Randall shakes his head, surprised. “I’ll be damned. Timothée, would you please rely that the latest collection in Hammer Galleries is outrageous? I’m _appalled._ ” 

Timmy blinks, processing the information. “Huh?” He says uselessly. Saoirse snorts across him and he kicks her ankle under the table. 

“Let me apologize. I’m not qualified for it, so I usually keep out of the galleries and museums. I’ll definitely take note of that though.” Armie politely concedes. 

“Timmy, did you not know?” Gloria is looking at him, amused at the frozen shock he feels on his face. 

“I— uh. No?” Timmy admits. Surprised by his answer, Armie shifts in his seat, turning to him. “Museums? Oh my God, don’t tell me Hammer Museum in L.A.” He buries his face in his palms, mortified for missing such obvious information. 

Gloria and Randall laughed at him. He also hears gasps from Jeremy and Tasha and an incredulous _Jesus Christ_ from Saoirse. Armie puts his hand on his back and rubs circles. “Were you distracted by my dashing good looks?” He teased. 

Lifting his head slightly to send a glare, Timmy says “Hush and quit being a smart-ass. I had a few works displayed at your New York gallery last year.” He groans, frustrated with himself. 

Armie grumbles in acknowledgement. “We could’ve met then.” 

“That’s not what I’m getting at.” Timmy runs his hand through his hair, his cheeks ridiculously warm from embarrassment. 

“Why not? Don’t you want to?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Ouch baby, next time lie to me.” 

“That’s not - oh my God, Saoirse, I hate your face.” Timmy glares across the table, huffing. 

Saoirse feigns innocence but doesn’t stop her laughter, her shoulders shaking with it. “I’m literally not doing anything!” She exclaims. “Armie, collect your boyfriend.”

Armie doesn’t even bat an eye as he scoots closer, searching his face. “You do know it’s fine, right?” He tells him quietly. 

“Yeah but that was so stupid of me - I also don’t mean I don’t want to meet you!” Timmy wants the ground to open up and just swallow him, even more embarrassed that they have company. 

Armie laughs and curls towards him, dropping a kiss to his head. “Of course I know what you mean, silly.” 

Timmy looks over when Armie leans back on his seat, his arm draped over the booth behind him. He raises a brow, urging him to speak, but also subtly nods to the table across. “Give me a moment,” Timmy pants out, weirdly breathless by the realization. 

“How did you two meet then, if you don’t know?” Tasha asks Timmy, but he clearly isn’t properly calibrated to answer at the moment. 

“Blind date,” Armie responds casually, still rubbing at Timmy’s back. 

Gloria claps her hands together, delighted. “Oh, you two are such a trope.” Her hand is in the air, waving. “There’s Luca.” She tells them. 

Timmy twists in his seat, finding Luca walking over to them and grinning at their booth, hands already outstretched. “ _Luca!_ ” He calls. 

“ _Ah, Timothée! Saoirse told me your date made you late, is that right?_ ” Luca berates playfully in Italian, not bothering with translating in his head as he always does with Timmy. 

“ _Lies,_ ” Timmy rolls his eyes at Saoirse, whose eyes are alert upon hearing her name but not understanding a thing. “ _Let me introduce you two._ ” He’s matching Luca’s Italian effortlessly and motions Luca forward as he stands up, Armie automatically going with him without being told to. 

“ _Oh! Movie star!_ ” Luca remarks when Armie stands in front of him. “ _Does he speak Italian? He would be perfect if he does._ ” He asks Timmy. 

“ _No, he’s American,_ ” he says with a snort, and Luca laughs with him. “ _If you hear his Italian, you would drop on the ground. It’s atrocious._ ” Timmy looks at Armie and puts on a sweet smile, but he just narrows his eyes at him. 

“You’re talking shit about me, aren’t you?” Armie looks down at him, his chin jutted forward in distrust. 

Timmy gleefully nods, uncaring. “This is Luca; faculty at Juilliard, screenwriter, producer, director. I wrote a bunch of compositions for him. Luca, this is Armie.” 

Luca makes a face at Timmy, disappointed with the introduction. “And Armie’s job post is…?” He takes Armie’s hand and shakes it, questioning. 

Armie hesitates. “CEO, Hammer Corporation.” 

Luca visibly startles, then turns to Timmy, pointing. “Nice going, you,” he says in English. “Arriving late with this man and his big…” Luca trails off, gesturing vaguely. “Bank account.” 

Their booth erupts in laughter, Armie clearly jolted but amused. Luca flags down a waiter and orders for the entire table. Courteous as always, Armie steps aside to let them slide back into the booth first before finally sitting down, right at the edge, his other leg stretched out. Timmy can feel Luca eyeing them, but he couldn’t be bothered to look. It fascinates him to no ends how Armie just walks into this pub and slips into the crowd like he is of this background. He’s so easy on the eyes, with his natural bravado and innate charm, polished and well-mannered in a way that represents his upbringing flawlessly. Timmy has noticed more than once that Armie had moments where he’s completely thrown off guard, but never reacted with imprudence. He’s so innately sure of himself, secured of his own merit, that he didn’t feel the need to put himself on the spot and show off. It was such a solidifying moment for Timmy as he realizes that Armie recognized that he was brought here to get to know his people, and allowed it, with boundless grace that Timmy doesn’t think he’s seen with anyone else that he’s been with. 

The waiter arrives with their drinks and an enormous platter of chip and dip. Luca urges everyone to take what they want, and then turns to the two of them. Timmy can already tell that he’s interested to take Armie apart. 

“So Armand,” Luca starts, dipping three chips at once and bringing it into his mouth. He didn’t continue right away and stared at Armie’s expression instead, intrigued. 

“ _Armand,_ ” he repeats with a scowl. “I only hear that when I’m in trouble.” 

“Do you believe you are?” Luca questions chirpily, his accent thick on every word. 

“I hope not.” Armie replies without missing a beat. “But I’ve long learned that’s not always up to me to decide.” He caves in, giving Luca a verbal permission to openly dissect him. 

Luca smiles meaningfully, appreciating Armie’s good sense. “That’s a very sensible disposition.” He observes with an approving bob of his head. “Did you meet in Hammer Galleries or Hammer Museum?” 

Timmy feels the heat returning to his face, their table laughing at the running gag. “Fuck my life,” he muttered under his breath. 

With a quiet chuckle, Timmy feels Armie pull him to his side, sympathetic. “He just connected the dots before you returned to this table.” He explains, thankfully neutral. Timmy sees Luca turn his gaze to him, teasing. “We were set up by a mutual friend.” 

Luca nods, considering. “I’m assuming you’re not very involved in your family collection then?” Armie confirms with a hum, and Luca continues. “Not a patron of the arts?” 

For the first time that night, Timmy sees Armie shrink a bit, and he doesn’t know what to make of his response. He takes a moment to drink a huge gulp of his beer, then finally says “I do support it, and I attend as often as I can. I guess you can say I’m just detached from it.” 

“I understand, being a business magnate must be too great a burden.” Luca asserts, earning an insistent disagreement from Armie. 

“Please, I was just an heir.” Armie is looking at his bottle, contemplating his words. “It’s a rather complicated relationship with my _birthright_ , if I can call it that. The gallery, the museum, all the collections public and private; they’re not simply an obscene display of wealth, they’re instruments that helped to curve the market to drastic elitism.” 

Their table simultaneously released their breath, understanding all at once the point that Armie is driving. Timmy has known it for so long too, and is guilty of being a part of the ruling class that escalated the conditions to this extent. He’s aware firsthand of what it feels to be born with a moral liability hanging over his head. It wasn’t a conversation that they had a chance to explore because of Timmy’s total lack of common sense. Still, he wishes he could remove Armie from the situation, feeling greedy of every vulnerable and genuine sentiment that he’s willing to spare. He puts a hand on his thigh, and he knows Armie would know that he’s asking if he wants to be taken out of the spot. Armie, of course, gracious through and through, just smiles with a subtle shake of his head. 

“The galleries and museums are also avenues for charity,” Luca prompts, but Timmy can tell that it’s loaded and likely a bait. 

Armie huffs, scornful but not hostile. His disagreement is apparent even before he opens his mouth. “‘The bourgeoisie is charitable out of self-interest,’” he says, quoting something from memory. “‘It gives nothing outright, but regards gifts as business matter, makes a bargain with the poor saying: ‘If I spend this much upon benevolent institutions, I thereby purchase the right not to be troubled any further.’” He lifts his eyes at the end of the quote, fixing Luca with a solemn stare. “It _is_ a complicated relationship, you see.” 

The reaction came slowly, Luca’s brow rising in subdued astonishment, his eyes lighting up with delight, before finally his lips pulled at the corners and parted into a delighted grin. “Friedrich Engels,” he notes, impressed. “Where does that leave you? It’s not exactly easy to separate your beliefs and stay faithful to them while running a corporation as big as yours.” 

Armie didn’t even have to think about his answer. In fact, he didn’t even move an inch and carried the conversation with no hesitation or an ounce of nervousness. He set off on explaining things that Timmy hadn’t heard of since secondary school and thus can’t be expected to comprehend properly at this age; he talks of spectrum of ethics, he rants against economics and provides figures to back his case, he cites experiences both his own and of colleagues, recalling them with intimate detail. Watching Armie takes Timmy’s breath away; everything he stands for shows that he’s principled and conscientious above all else. He’s eloquent but unpretentious; their table so taken by his intelligence and coherence despite the dense topic of conversation. He didn’t even take long to finish the explanation, but Timmy can see the awe and respect he feels mirrored on their faces upon his conclusion. It made him feel proud beyond belief. Armie is fucking brilliant, and he wears it so comfortably that all those within his bubble automatically feel themselves of equal footing. 

“My God, but you are whip-smart.” Randall was the first one to manage to put his words together. 

Armie shrugs, dismissive. “It’s not so much as shooting down the primary driving motivation of capitalism. There _is_ such a thing as too much. I understand it and I’m trying to reconcile my responsibilities and my ethics, but the point still stands. It is as good as purchasing guillotine insurance when charity is put on the same ground as redistribution. It’s _not_ . What it is is a mere preservation of a violent status quo while the ‘beneficiaries’ continue to suffer _systemically_.” 

Timmy knows he’s openly staring, can even feel his jaw hanging, but Armie turns his head, meeting his eyes with a surprised smile. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Timmy’s cheeks feel warm, his cheeks hurting a bit from smiling too widely. 

“Nothing?” Armie repeats with a raised brow. 

Scrunching his nose, Timmy tries to hold in his grin by pursing his lips. “Everything,” he waves his hand to Armie’s face. 

If they weren’t sitting so close, Timmy would’ve missed how the color rises to Armie’s face. “You already know,” he says. 

“You’re a great man,” Timmy whispers, resting his chin on Armie’s shoulder. 

“I try,” Armie answers, kissing his forehead. 

“Timothée, where did your mutual friend find one of these?” Luca waves towards Armie’s direction. “I want one.” 

Armie takes Timmy’s hand that’s resting on his thighs under the table and threads their fingers together. “Ah, no, no,” Timmy haughtily teased. “Catch the floor show in your own time, why don’t you?” 

Luca breaks off a chip and pelts him with it. “You get on my damn nerves but for what? Nothing at all.” 

Timmy laughs, triumphant and giddy. Their banter gets interrupted by a male singer breaking out in a Gwen Stefani number, and the pub erupts in applause and hoots. Timmy looks at Armie and finds him equally amused and amazed; clearly taken by the talent and entertained by the ridiculous display. Tasha breaks out into a horrible second voice, along with a lot of other people in the pub, and their table rings with laughter once more. Gloria begins to talk about Broadway musicals and openings, a lot of which Timmy has already been made aware of if not applied to. Some refused him, the others he refused, for one reason or another. It was a visibly confusing moment for Armie when Randall begins to talk about technicalities in music and performances, his jargons flowing seamlessly in an audience that he has the confidence that will understand him. Saoirse asks an open question, more like a musing she somehow said out loud, and Luca and Gloria set off on a passionate tirade about film and cinematography. 

Armie is tipping back his fourth beer, trying to follow the conversation but obviously understanding very little even if he tries. Timmy tugs at their joined hands, getting his attention. 

“Let’s go around, it’s just going to get worse from here.” Timmy says and Armie has a moment where he looks like he’d protest, probably assuring him that he’s fine, so Timmy adds “I’d play if you like.” 

Armie perks up beside him, looking at him expectantly. “You know I do,” he confirms, squeezing his hand then straightens immediately in consideration of their company. Timmy feels once again the urge to just whisk him away so they can keep having their way with each other. 

“I can’t decide who lucked out between these two,” Gloria says suddenly with a shake of her head, torn. Timmy has a moment of confusion and looks around until he’s sure she’s referring to him. 

“Oh that would easily be me,” Armie answers offhandedly, rising to his feet so Timmy could get out of the booth. Timmy just watches, dumbstruck with Armie’s unthinking honesty, and wonders how many times a tall, handsome brilliant man can sweep him off his feet in one day. 

“Where are you going?” Saoirse asks, watching them. 

“Around,” Timmy says after an awkward pause and Armie folds into himself with laughter. 

“He said he’ll see if he can play something.” Armie clarifies, his hand reaching for Timmy after they’re both on their feet. 

Luca snorts. “Well whatever it may be, I’m sure none of you all would really like to know.” He waves them away, urging them to go. Saoirse grimaces and fake gags. 

“Give me a break,” Timmy rolls his eyes, stepping into Armie and feeling like his face is on fire. “I’m sorry they're like five.” 

Armie just lifts his hand on his lower back to embrace him by the waist. “Did you forget Viktor earlier? He was throwing up. You can’t top that, your friends are amazing.” 

Timmy actually laughs at that, and because he has the nerves now he flips off their table and drags Armie away. They walk hand in hand; Timmy pointing in every direction and explaining to Armie elements of his life and work - the artists, the fields, the instruments - and Armie follows every word out of his mouth, nods and responds accordingly. Despite the attention, he has a dazed look in his eyes as he supposedly listens, and Timmy bets that he understood none of it. No matter, because he can relate anyway. It’s not so much as learning each other’s works in practice, but to simply hear the other talk about their passion. So yes, Timmy relates, and it’s fine. Indulging Armie isn’t the hardest thing at all. 

In the end, the pub was too busy and crowded for Timmy to slip in and play the piano. Armie, for most part, doesn’t even look bothered by it. Instead, he finds a polaroid and pays for films, holding it up for Timmy to see and shaking it lightly. 

“Smile, sunshine!” Armie teases, eyes shining with mischief as he points the camera to Timmy and catches him in a candid laughter. 

“No!” Timmy whines, bouncing his body like a child as Armie holds the film over his head and out of reach. 

“Ah, ah,” Armie shakes his head, loving every bit of being a little shit. “Shake, shake, shake,” he adds because he’s an asshole. 

Pouting, Timmy stands in front of Armie, holding out his hand for the film, and instead receives the camera. Without thinking, he snaps at Armie; standing with his arm stretched over his head, grinning teasingly. Timmy bets his film is going to come out perfect and stunning. “You’re an actual dickbag.” 

“Aha!” Armie looks at the film in his hand, finally developed. He looks at Timmy, who’s still shaking his, and then back to his photo, this time with a charmed look. “I get to keep it right?” 

Confused with the change in his expression, Timmy steps forward and stands beside Armie, looking at his own figure - laugh lines all over his face, grinning wide and open, his eyes almost disappearing and a hand reaching over to the camera in an attempt to stop it from taking. He scrunched his nose. It looks ridiculously giddy. 

“That’s a ridiculous photo.” Timmy complains, looking at Armie. 

“But you’re laughing!” Armie protests, turning the film to him. “I’m keeping it and that’s that.” 

“I need to redeem myself. Here, take our photo.” Timmy passes the camera back to Armie, who takes it without a word and slips his film into his wallet then puts it back in his pocket. “That better not see the light of day ever again.” He warns, following the movement. 

Armie laughs, his hand immediately going around his waist and holding him close. Timmy slings his arms around his neck, going up on his tiptoes. The camera flashed. “Why do I feel like I messed that up?” 

Timmy is watching the film in his hand develop, one arm resting on Armie’s shoulder. “We have, what, two more, right?” Armie’s face finally showed in the photo, as flawless and handsome as Timmy expected. “You’re so unfair with your perfect _everything_.” 

“Did I tell you that Liz sent me a picture of you moments before you entered the restaurant?” Armie says, releasing him so he can walk up the bar and get them drinks, paying upfront. 

Timmy watches him walk back to his side, camera and film on one hand and two drinks on the other. “What?” He asks, taking his drink. 

“Here, one second.” Armie puts the camera and film down on their tall pub table, taking almost half of it. He takes his phone out and searches his conversations, opening Liz’s and clicking on the attachment. “She sent me this.” 

It was a picture not taken too long before their first date in an apartment of one of his students whose father Timmy knew in Juilliard. He’s hunched over a piano, hair all over his face in the dimly-lit room. “That’s unfair! I got nothing!” 

“We’re here though,” he shrugs, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning lightly. “Would it change a thing?” 

“When I first saw you, I was devastated.” Timmy admits, enjoying Armie’s shock. He sputtered a bit, but Timmy cuts him, explaining “You were fixing yourself, looking at your reflection, checking your teeth,” he stops to laugh at Armie when he wrinkles his face at the memory. “And I thought, this man is on a date with someone he’s totally into, and I’m meeting a guy who sounds like he got harassed into showing up.” 

“Oh my God, you saw me at my top loser moment.” Armie rubs his face, laughing at himself. “I saw you first, you know. Liz made sure to tell me that you’re wearing a magenta suit, which I thought to be ridiculous until I saw you in it at the door, and I got so flustered. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” 

“So you tried to fix up?” Timmy feels giddy with the information. The endearing self-consciousness that he envied that night was a result of Armie seeing _him_. 

Armie shifts his weight on one elbow, turning his body towards Timmy. His hand reaches out to brush a strand away from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear. Timmy blushed, but nuzzled on Armie’s palm when it cupped his face. “I didn’t know what to do with myself; you know I wasn’t expecting much from it.” He confessed, staring at Timmy with solemn eyes. “I don’t know what to do with myself now either,” he shrugs. 

“You can kiss me?” Timmy suggests, thrilled that he feels himself buzzing with it. 

Because Armie won’t ever pass the opportunity to be cheeky, he actually makes a show of checking the surrounding - which is a pub full of people - before he looks back at Timmy. He steps forward nonetheless, lifting Timmy’s face upwards to kiss him fully. “Hmm, that was a very good suggestion.” They kiss again, lighter and shorter, Timmy gasping at the end of it. “Stay the night?” 

Timmy was confused for a second, until he realized that his bag was left at Armie’s apartment. “You’re making it very hard to wait.” He teased, hugging Armie around the waist. 

“Obviously, I still have zero game around you. I guess we can just…” Clearly, Armie didn’t think his suggestion through either, his eyes staring off because he is standing by his decision, even if he doesn’t sound like it at the moment. 

“Cuddle?” Timmy supplies, laughing. 

“Like I’d say no to touching you?” Armie snorts, kissing him again. “Stay the night?” 

Timmy puts his face on the crook of Armie’s neck nodding. “Like I’d say no to touching you?” He repeats, making Armie chuckle and sway them a bit. 

They finished their drinks after that, then took two more photos together just to use up their films. The first one is blurred and totally unrecognizable and they left it on the table, walking out of the bar, shaking the films obnoxiously. Armie had the good sense to send his driver a text, and Timmy frowns in confusion as Armie tugs him to walk some more. He goes along anyway, strolling arm in arm like they did on their first date, until Armie stops by a bench, facing the dock and water. 

“Since we didn’t get to go around yesterday, this will just have to do.” Armie explains, closing his eyes as the wind hits his face. “So this dock - it stretches out right? - I always tried to find my way to it around the city when I went out drinking wherever that may be, especially when I was in university. I haven’t gone in a while since grad school, I think.”

Timmy nudges him, playful. “You bring people here often?” 

Armie laughs, looking at him. “When I ended up with someone on a night out, a dock was _not_ where we took things to.” 

“Stud,” Timmy grumbles, trying to picture Armie, years younger and less put together, drunk on a bench facing the water. 

“What? Picturing me with my flings?” Armie tugs at him, still laughing. Timmy rolls his eyes, the same crippling irritation under his skin rising again. “There you are again,” he remarks, poking the tip of his nose. 

Timmy scrunches it and turns his face. “What?” 

“The same face when Saoirse asked about exclusivity.” Armie says gently, looking at Timmy patiently. 

“I - it’s nothing. I mean-” Timmy’s face burns up again, but decides to just be truthful about it. “I’m being childish, really. I know I can trust you; you’re easily one of the best people I’ve met. I guess it’s just because it’s hard to believe that you actually like _me_.” 

“Even after all that’s been said and done?” Armie asks, incredulous but soft. 

“See? I _know_ I’m immature, I promise.” 

Armie arranges them so they’re standing in front of each other, his two hands cupping at his face and forcing him to look up. “No one else,” he promised. “I’d tell you as often as you like.” 

“You’d let me have that?” _Exclusivity, assurance, honesty_ \- Timmy didn’t bother to clarify. 

“I’d let you have anything.” Armie shakes his head, like he still can’t believe that Timmy still has doubts about it. Timmy surges up to kiss Armie, not really having words to match his. Armie just receives him, and he thinks he understands too as Armie adds “Anything for you.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic nonsense. I'm almost done with my semester! Wish me luck. Also, love you all for leaving comments. See you next week! x

For all the sweetness and honesty and astonishment of their entire time together that day, Armie never would’ve guessed that they would be bickering non stop once they return to his apartment. It all started in a domestic act of Armie lending Timmy something to change into, which set off one teasing remark after the other with what they found in his dresser. Apparently, Timmy just has to put together an outfit even if he’s just going to bed. 

“Why can’t you use these sweatpants again? It’s the only one in here that can fit you.” Armie is neck-deep in his cabinet, looking for old pairs. 

“I  _ can  _ wear it; you managed to shrink it so much in the washer, Jesus Christ.” Timmy answers. “I’m saying I don’t want it with this shirt. Hand me another, maybe red?” 

“Oh my God, what’s wrong with this?” Armie snatches the blue sweater on the ottoman, turning it over and stretching to check the material. 

“It’s coarse wool,” Timmy says like it’s obvious. “If I put that on to sleep I should just lay down on the grass.” 

Armie scowls. “That’s an exaggeration, and  _ I’m _ telling you this.” 

“Have you seen your chest hair? Of courses you can’t tell.” 

“Fine!” 

And that’s how they spent until past midnight in Armie’s wardrobe, turning it inside out until Timmy’s eyes lit up at the sight of a folded red sweater. Armie was already slightly bleary-eyed by the end of it, changing into his own sleeping clothes and fetching Timmy’s satchel, but then Timmy walks into his vision wearing his old Columbia University sweater, the butterflies in his stomach tell him that it was more than okay. 

Armie walks over to Timmy, who’s holding his bundled shirt and pants in one hand, and gingerly tugs at the fabric of his own pullover. “You know what, you have a point.” He starts, his hand moving up to cup Timmy’s face. “Looking good,” he adds approvingly, putting their mouths together in a kiss. 

“I know right? Suddenly I look young enough to put you in jail.” Timmy deadpans, fluttering his lashes and pouting. Armie’s laughter rips out of him so hard that he falls on Timmy’s shoulder. 

If anyone thinks that it’ll be a cute domestic evening from there, they’ll be in for a maddening surprise. Armie has long been made aware that Timmy has strong opinions on things that no one even thinks about. It turns out, his reaction can range from being charmed to absolutely driven up the wall. For example, his laundry room cupboards.

“Why are your liquids on a higher shelf?” Timmy asks, pulling the gel detergent out of the storage. “They’re supposed to be on the lowest, because they can spill.” 

Armie stops with setting up the washing machine, grimacing in the air like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “What?” 

“You should organize your stuff better, is the point.” Timmy chides as he walks to his side, loading his clothes in. 

“Literally no one has an opinion on that.” 

“You know what else I have an opinion on? This laundry detergent. Who in your marketing team thought arctic fresh is a scent?” 

Armie just stares, out of words to say in total disbelief. “I don’t own Arm & Hammer?” He responds, unsure and feeling out of his depth in the discussion. 

“Well if you’re considering to expand,” Timmy holds the bottle up to Armie’s face and shakes it, showing him the Arctic Fresh label that offends him. 

“I’m sure you’d survive smelling  _ arctic fresh, _ Timothée.” Armie takes the bottle from him and dumps twice the amount into the loader, just so Timmy could end up smelling the stupid scent for days. 

They moved to the kitchen afterwards, just in time for Armie’s stomach to roar loudly in the quiet apartment. Timmy laughs and asks him what he has so he can fix them something to eat, but Armie just tells him to help himself in the pantry. He stocked up just recently so he has enough to give Timmy more room to decide what to make. But because they’re somewhat of a landmine tonight, their midnight snack set them off into another incessant bickering. 

“Soup is so much work at this hour, just dump that boxed mac and cheese into the pot.” Armie says, now also in the pantry and rummaging his own stash. 

Timmy snorts at the suggestion, taking offense. “No, I don’t want fake American cheese before I go to bed - oh, bagels! Wait, how old is this thing?” 

Turning, Armie leans back to reach the label, then scowls at Timmy. “It has a couple of days more.” 

“Whatever, I don’t want it.” Timmy puts the bag back on the rack, making Armie sigh. 

“Let’s just do peanut butter and jelly.” 

“Then why did you buy all these?”

Armie groans, falling on his back on the pantry floor, his stomach erupting in a loud roar shortly after. “Did you hear that? I felt that in my throat, that’s how much I want to eat.” 

“I felt that in  _ my _ throat.” Timmy retorts, pulling another bag. “You know what, let’s just make a parfait.” 

“ _ Timmy, _ ” Armie openly whines. 

“Oh my God, are you my kid?” 

Armie glares from the floor, unimpressed. 

“Grilled cheese?” Timmy suggests, bending down to pull Armie by the hand. “Get up!” 

Armie complies but slowly. “I changed my mind on cheese.” 

“Do you have cold cuts?” 

“Yeah, won’t that be too heavy though?”

Timmy sighs. “There’s no pleasing you.” 

They thankfully agreed on avocado toasts after they moved to disturb the fridge since Armie’s abundant pantry failed to provide. Timmy still made a serving of parfait which they shared, feeding himself and Armie alternately. The washing machine sounds shortly after their meal and Timmy rises to collect his clothes to transfer to the dryer. Armie clears the table then and takes care of the dishes, his arms covered in suds when Timmy returns to the kitchen. 

“You’re reading Sherlock Holmes?” Timmy asks, slapping the huge book on the kitchen island with his palm. 

Armie slightly turns his head and sees Timmy sitting on the countertop. “Sure, periodically.” 

“Your favorite character, go.” 

“Uh, I - Mrs. Hudson?” 

Timmy’s swinging feet stop midair, and Armie’s soaked arms are frozen in place. They look at each other, confused, and then burst out in a fit of laughter. 

“What?” Timmy is red in the face with the absurdity of the answer. 

“I said nothing.” Armie sternly answers, wiping his hand on a towel. 

“Your first thought is to blurt out the landlady.” 

“Speculations will never hold in court.” 

When they finally settled into Armie’s bed, spooned together, he had a passing thought that the transition of their time together had been so stark compared to the one before it that it almost felt like they went through multiple days. Even more ridiculous is how yesterday, they were at Timmy’s and practically melting on the spot with their domestic display. Armie chuckles to himself, recalling the bickering that seemed to just materialize out of nowhere. 

“What’s so funny?” Timmy is already half-asleep, grumbling the question. 

“Do you like how my sheets smell? They’re arctic fresh.” 

“If you don’t stop saying shit like this, I’m going to dump you.” 

So Timmy would totally bicker with him even in his sleep. Armie absolutely  _ loved _ it. 

*******

At the crack of dawn, Timmy feels himself stir and he opens his eyes, disoriented with his surroundings and confused with the hand resting on his stomach. He blinks repeatedly, trying to shake off the sleepiness so his reason would kick in. The daze cleared immediately when his eyes landed on Armie, sleeping on one arm over the pillow and utterly knocked out. Timmy feels a rush of thrill, his heart feeling like it’s bursting open in his chest and he shifts closer, snuggling to Armie’s chest. The fidgeting disturbed his sleep a bit, his eyes fluttering open to check, then focusing his sleepy gaze on Timmy. Armie smiles, and he doubts that the man actually registers the situation. 

“Sorry, go back to sleep.” Timmy whispers, kissing his forehead. 

Armie hums approvingly, hugging him tighter. 

*******

Usually, Armie would be jumping out of bed before six, drinking a whole lot of water, working out, showering, fixing himself something to eat then out of the door and to the office before nine. His body clock hasn’t forgotten to wake him up on the dot, but he indulges himself to a couple of more minutes so he can slip in and out of consciousness, tangled with Timmy in his sheets. At half past, Armie finally forces himself to get up, Timmy grumbling his protest and huffing when Armie succeeds in breaking out of their cocoon. Chuckling fondly, Armie bends down to kiss his forehead, murmuring  _ good morning _ even if Timmy doesn’t seem to register it.

He pads towards his bathroom, washing his mouth and splashing his face with water. He takes out a work suit and folds the jacket on the ottoman, bringing the rest to the bathroom so he can change into it after showering. After cleaning up, Armie proceeds to the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He takes the bagels that Timmy rejected the night before, just so he can be an ass, and puts it on the counter. He decides on bacon and eggs, mostly because he’s cooked it his entire life that there’s a very slim chance that he can still mess it up. He pops chopped fruit in his mouth as he goes, arranging the pan on the stove so he can start cooking. It was a constant nag at the back of his head that Timmy is in his bed right now, sleeping, and it was taking a lot not to just slip back in and maybe get carried away. Still, Armie knows better than to mess this up, so he opts to connect his phone to the speaker at the corner and plays a random 80s playlist that pops up first. Halfway through his cooking, Timmy walks into the kitchen, blinking through the brightness and not looking very friendly. 

“Morning,” he greets even more cheerfully, just to be annoying. 

Timmy grumbles his response, not quite saying it back but he tried. Casually, he walks up to Armie and kisses him on the cheek, nuzzling for a moment to see what he’s cooking but not saying a word. 

“Slept well? I hope you’re ready for the bagels to make a comeback.” Armie says, kissing the top of Timmy’s head as he drops it on his shoulder. He grumbles again in response, making Armie laugh. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t speak clearly.” 

“Coffee?” Timmy repeats with effort. 

“I haven’t brewed it but it’s over there.” Armie replies, motioning to the other end of the counter. 

Timmy nods and steps away, fixing them their morning coffee. “It’s old.” He says quietly but amusingly full of respite. 

“I just bought that.” Armie answers, looking at Timmy’s scrunched face. 

“It’s not  _ fresh _ .” He clarifies then dumps twice more than two cups of coffee would need. 

Even if Armie totally enjoys the bickering, he has enough self-preservation to know that mornings should be off limits. So he just leaves Timmy to insult his coffee grounds, plating their breakfast and putting it on the table. When he returns to the kitchen to get fruits and yogurt, Timmy is glowering at his coffee machine. 

“What’s wrong?” Armie asked, not bothering to hide his amused smile. 

Timmy regards him but not turning his attention fully. “Why this?” He waves at the machine in disapproval. 

Honestly, Armie doesn’t know. It’s a coffee machine and drips coffee just fine, which were his only requirements when buying. “It works?” He tries, closing the fridge door. 

Timmy sighs, like he’d want to say more but can’t really. He grumbles some more but it’s in French, so Armie just turns to walk back to the table. 

“Come on, food is ready. Do you need help?” Armie asks from the table. 

Timmy waves him away, grumbling incoherently again, taking the entire pot of coffee and grabbing two mugs. Armie moves to get milk and sugar instead, still watching Timmy and on the verge of laughter. He’s clearly not used to getting up at this hour, but in consideration of Armie and the fact that it’s a work day, he still trudges out of bed. It was charming, to say the least. Timmy had been perfect and amazing ever since; it’s going to be alarming if he never shows a flaw. 

“I’ll give you coffee next time.” Timmy says, drinking his straight up with no milk and sugar. 

Armie just stares, thinking he’d rather have scotch first thing in the morning than drink coffee black. “Well, okay.” He just agrees, not really knowing what else to do. 

“I’m actually not this bad in the morning,” Timmy tries to explain, chugging his coffee alarmingly. “It’s just too early.” He wrinkles his face after, then pours himself another but only filling halfway. 

Armie looks at his clock; it’s past eight. “Your work keeps you up mostly?” 

Timmy nods, chewing his food. “Especially now,” he sighs. “Don’t you have to be at the office by nine?” 

Shrugging, Armie says “Not really, I can be late. I don’t have meetings until after lunch, so I don’t have to come in as early.”

“I’ll just-” Timmy gestures to the table, drinking up his coffee. “Then my clothes in the dryer. I’ll be out before you know it.” 

Armie frowns. “Timmy, it’s fine. There’s no rush, so stop shoving everything down, you can take your time. Actually,  _ please _ take your time.” 

“Oh this? I’m actually drinking fast because your coffee is stale.” Timmy sets the mug down with a final scrunch of his nose. “Are these your old bagels?”

Armie closes his eyes with a sigh. “They’re  _ fine, _ Jesus. You make me sound like a lumberjack surviving winter in the Alps.” 

Finally coming back to himself, Timmy starts to laugh, popping a berry in his mouth. “How’s that?” 

“Hmm?” Armie prompts, not really understanding the question. 

Timmy who’s as awake as he can be before nine, gives him a once over, nice and slow. “You as a lumberjack.” 

“Is this kink negotiation? I don’t follow.” Armie feigns his scandalized gasp. 

“What good would that do?” Timmy stabs his bagel through with intent, the egg popping by the sides that Armie felt his crotch flinch. 

But because he’s a little shit, Armie says “I grew up spending vacations in Cayman Islands. That was interesting.”

Timmy raises his brow, confused. “What’s out there?” 

“Nothing much,” Armie answers. “I know I said I’ve never had a small town life. What we had was an isolated house on an island with miles and miles between us and the next neighbor. I think the longest we stayed was three weeks, but it taught me a lot.” They’re treading dangerous territory, but obviously neither of them had the better sense to steer away. 

“Are you saying you can crack a coconut with a machete?” 

“Oh I could do it by hand.” 

Timmy purses his lips. “You’re making things very difficult for me.” 

“You wanted to be a little shit.” Armie said, laughing at Timmy’s flustered reaction. 

“Yeah, and now I want to talk about Jesus because we need it.” Timmy polishes his fork, taking the last bite of bagel into his mouth. “Christian? Or are you Jewish? That would make sense given your wealth.” 

Armie answers through his bubbling laughter, entertaining the change in topic for Timmy’s sake and his own. “Half Jewish, but basically raised Catholic.” 

“ _ Raised _ Catholic?” Timmy prods, curious at the wording. 

“Belief-wise, I’d say I’m agnostic; religions don’t sit very well with me, but I played the good Catholic growing up.” Armie shrugs, recalling the days. “Church every Sunday, having the priest over for dinner occasionally, serving as altar boy,” he adds, offhanded. 

A silence settled over the table after Armie’s story so he lifted his eyes to gauge the room. Instead, he finds Timmy staring at him, dumbstruck, his brows flying up all the way to his hairline, his flush slowly creeping up his neck. 

“You were an altar boy?” Timmy clears his throat, trying to act normal. 

“Timmy, that’s sacrilege.” 

Timmy’s face turns darker and he sighs, resigned. “I never claimed to be good company in the morning.” 

*******

The entirety of July had been a regretfully busy month for them, so they barely managed a date or two in a week. To make up for that, over the course of three weeks, Armie and Timmy had spent increasingly more time in each other’s apartments, often sleeping over so they can stretch their time together until brunch, if they’re lucky. Armie and Timmy found out more and more mundane things about each other that are not limited to how they’re like in the mornings. Timmy, to his credit, is not actually reduced to a grumbling piece of complaints when he wakes up. It would all depend on how much sleep he gets the night before, or in the duration of the week in total. Armie, on the other hand, is constantly needing small meals or he would drop on the floor, useless and starving. Letting themselves in each other’s places became a thing eventually. They quite like coming home to one another, their routines mixing up that both of them feel a bit weird doing things on their own. 

Armie had been a little surprised when he found out that Timmy was still very athletic, and if their height difference and physique weren’t so drastically apart Armie thought Timmy could even outrun him in their morning jogs. He’s also stronger than he looks, and definitely more toned than his clothing preference would suggest. Despite his automatic downplaying, Timmy realized Armie actually reads a whole lot. It was like an instinctive activity to pass time. Timmy always found it endearing when Armie picked up any reading material while idle; a pamphlet, a magazine, a newspaper, the back of a carton. In their respective homes, Armie would often be in an armchair, reclined or sprawled over, with a book in hand. 

Their general unavailability strangely worked out very well for them, and they had been moving in a domestic bubble for a month now. So naturally, their otherwise blissful and unobstructed journey of enjoying each other’s company would meet a bump along the way. It wasn’t like it’s a make-or-break situation, but the no-sex policy definitely get to them on some days. Sure, they get frisky around each other, of course,  _ naturally _ , because what they are can only be described as tragically attracted to one another. What it creates, underneath their domesticity, is a buzzing, charged sexual tension that they just awkwardly laugh at until it’s successfully brushed under the rug. 

No matter, since both Armie and Timmy would still tell you it’s the best month they’ve ever had in all of their dating histories. Timmy can wait; in fact, he trusts Armie very much on his decision to hold back on this, so it wasn’t really such a big deal at the end of the day. 

“Hey Jen!” Timmy greets cheerfully, strutting towards her desk to drop a kiss to her cheek. 

Jenny stretches her hand out immediately, the other pressing down on the papers on her desk. “Timmy!” She exclaims happily, receiving him. “He’s neck-deep in work, I hope you brought sweets.” 

Timmy laughs, shaking his bag. “That’s what he keeps me for,” he answers smartly, then pulls a small box. “This is a bribe for you.” 

Jenny bursts out laughing, clapping her hands. “You brought me something too!” She takes the box and clutches it to her chest. 

“Cream puffs; I made it myself.” Timmy winks, walking towards Armie’s office. “Enjoy!” 

Timmy still knocks despite their relationship, because it’s a polite thing to do. He enters and finds Armie hunched over his desk, flipping through folders with his fingers massaging his temple. When his eyes landed on Timmy, he immediately perked up and leaned on his chair, relieved. 

“Hey you,” Timmy greets him, walking straight towards his desk and bending down to kiss Armie on the lips. 

“My best guy,” Armie says and pulls him to his lap, nuzzling on his throat. 

“You need a shave,” Timmy teased, threading his fingers in Armie’s hair. 

Armie’s head lolls to the side, chasing the scratches from Timmy’s fingers. “Hmm, keep doing that.” 

“Difficult day?” Timmy asks, letting the bag fall on the side of the chair. 

“Yeah,” Armie takes Timmy’s face and kisses him before explaining. “I feel like I’m going in circles with this client - the one from last week, remember? - and they keep withdrawing the goods and it’s driving me up the wall. Every time I entertain these assholes, I waste resources, but they’re valuable connections so I can’t just drop them but what I wouldn’t give to just get rid of them.” 

“What did Viktor say?” 

Armie shrugs. “Nothing we both can do about it. I called dad actually,” he sighs. “It went as well as you can imagine. It’s not like it was my fault that they’re dickbags.” 

Timmy kisses Armie on both eyes before moving to peck at his lips. “Give yourself a break,” he suggests, moving out of his lap. “I got you lunch, I hope you’re hungry.” 

“Starving,” Armie confirms, leaning forward as Timmy starts to take out the contents of his bag. 

“Help yourself, I’ll make you some coffee.” Timmy says after he laid out all the food on the coffee table in front of the desk. 

A week ago, Armie had the unshakeable urge to declutter his already minimalist office. Timmy didn’t say a word of protest about it, assuming that Armie’s impulse was coming from his drive to keep his productivity going, especially with the amount of work that he’d been getting. Timmy wasn’t much help during that time, but he packed some boxes and labeled them diligently as Armie sorted everything. To his most pleasant surprise, Armie asked Timmy what he thought would be a good addition in the office, now that he cleared up a lot of his perceived clutter. Timmy thought he had a healthy amount of paper and folders lying around, but he’s measuring it relative to his own, which he has a mountain of. Without really thinking his answer through, Timmy suggested a coffee machine. Armie’s eyes actually brightened at the thought, nodding his approval and asking Timmy about recommendations because he’d buy one first thing when he got off work. In their weeks of constantly existing within each other’s domestic spaces, Armie had a consistent stream of coffee brewed by Timmy. It was tricky to get used to, because he does make very good coffee, and from there on, drinking coffee that wasn’t to Timmy’s standards just left a tangy taste in his mouth. And that was how, despite an entire cafe next to the company, Armie ends up with an espresso machine in his office. 

Timmy couldn’t help his smile whenever he saw it, watching the espresso drip into the coffee cup as he froths the milk. 

“How can you still find the time to cook?” Armie asks behind him, the containers sounding in the otherwise quiet room as he opens each one. 

Timmy moves to pour milk to Armie’s coffee, dumping in enough sweetener to his taste. “I put off the sculpture I was making. My hands are sore already, it won’t do me any good to keep working on it.” He takes his doppio and Armie’s mug back to the coffee table, joining Armie on the armchairs. 

Armie takes their coffee and sets it down, pulling Timmy for a quick kiss then checking his hands. “I’d massage them for you after we eat,” he promised, pulling Timmy down so they can start their lunch. 

*******

Unlike Armie, Timmy has more control to decide where his work will be. It took them days after their lunch date at Armie’s to meet again, unfortunately on Timmy’s expense once more as he just brought in his massive laptop and a bunch of musical scores over to his apartment, spreading them out on the coffee table in his study. Armie is sitting behind the desk, feeling like he’s about to lose his mind over the contracts. Timmy is hunched over the coffee table from the couch, his ears trapped between massive headphones as he listens to an arrangement that Armie can never hope to explain even with a gun to his head. As a break from his stupid tasks, Armie takes a moment to watch Timmy bob his head along with the music, mouthing the music notes as it goes. Timmy catches his eyes, hitting pause on his laptop and raising his brow at him. 

“What?” He asks, moving one side of the headphone away from his ear. 

Armie shrugs, smiling. “Nothing,” 

“Nothing?” Timmy repeats, incredulous. They both know it’s because Armie is staring at him with the same stupid look on his face, dazed and smitten. “Still?” 

“Still.” Armie nods, confirming as he tosses the folder on the desk. “Always.” He adds, leaning back on his chair and keeping his eyes on Timmy. 

It never ceases to amaze him how Timmy still blushes as he does. “Are you officially taking a break or just a breather?” 

For what it’s worth, Armie did spend a second contemplating the question, but the answer was pretty clear. “Taking a break, officially.” He stands up from his desk and quickly makes his way to Timmy to push him back down on the couch, kissing him on the forehead. “Stay here, I’d be right back.” Timmy makes a face at him, confused, but he just smiles and bends down to kiss him on the lips. 

Ever since they’ve started frequenting each other’s apartments, Armie made conscious efforts to consider Timmy when he runs errands. At this rate, they’ve spent enough time around each other that they have a good read and knowledge of each other’s preferences. Armie has started to add tea in his grocery list, specifically the one Timmy liked, even if he had never really been a tea drinker his whole life. There’s also a significant change in his tastes when it comes to pastries. Armie can now tell the depth of flavor in a dessert, whereas his palate before was pretty much anything goes as long as it was sweet. Due to this, Armie followed Timmy’s recommended patisseries around the city and took note of his favorites so he can grab some anytime for them both. 

When Timmy first found the box of tea bags he liked to drink, he pretty much pounced on Armie and hung off his neck while peppering kisses to his face. It was a boundlessly adorable moment and Armie knew in his core that he’d start afternoon tea time with Timmy if only he asked. What Timmy did do was order a sleek black, contemporary tea set for him and had it delivered to his address the very next day. Armie finds the said dinnerware along with the rest of his old ones, not even hidden or kept out, and puts it athe tray so he can brew them some tea. While it was seeping, Armie takes out the lemon tart and slices them a generous piece, not bothering to put it on different plates since he knows they’ll be feeding each other anyway. He has friands too - his own preference - but decides against it in favor of butter cookies . He loads it all up with the tea and utensils, not forgetting his sweetener and milk because he likes living on edge (of diabetes, Timmy would sometimes quip), before gingerly walking back to his office. 

“I’m back,” Armie announces, carefully setting down the tray on the table. 

Timmy jumps from the couch, his headphones back on, and starts clearing out the clutter on the table to make room for the tray. “What’s the occasion?” He teased, practically glowing with appreciation. 

Armie collapses on the couch beside Timmy, who simply opens his arms to cuddle. “Nothing at all.” 

“So by break time you mean getting us tea and pastries.” Timmy says, arranging himself against Armie’s chest. 

“No, I meant making out. That’s just my bribe.” 

  
Timmy bursts out laughing, hitting him on the arm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I keep mixing elements of food to stand in for domestic scenes. It's a personal observation that I've had that love languages somehow take some form (or lean towards) service as we grow old - at least that is for the people I know, including myself. Maybe it's a huge impact of adulting to us that we start to appreciate practical gestures to convey our affections, rather than rom-com grand exhibitions.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo alle! I was in a pretty good mood the past two days so... here goes an update (because aside from updating this fic I don’t really have a life)

Some time in the middle of August, Timmy was hanging out with Liz outside of a gallery. They’ve had enough of the stuffiness of the elite and powerful of New York, so they sat together on the side of the building, sipping their sneaked out champagnes. 

“I’m thinking of flying out for a week at the end of the month. Pauline is having a party on September first; her recent movie got critical acclaim.” Timmy says, scrolling through his phone to show Liz his sister’s last project. 

Liz makes a startled sound. “Are you leaving after Armie’s birthday? Or you’re going to France together?” 

The coldness that swept throughout Timmy’s body has nothing to do with the external temperature out on the streets and he heard himself gulp, eyes wide as saucers as he stared frozen on the screen of his phone. 

“H-holy shit, Liz, hold my hand, I think I lost feelings in my legs.” Timmy gasps out, stretching his arm to Liz so she can support his body weight. Honestly, he wishes he was joking, but he does feel himself slowly sliding down on the wall. 

“Oh my God, Armie puts up with you? You’re overdramatic as fuck.” Liz remarks, trying to hold him up and saving his champagne flute. “Come on, you’re adults, it’s fine. He’ll understand.” 

Timmy feels like throwing himself on the road to just be done with it. “No, this can’t seriously be happening to me,” he cries out, rubbing his temples and feeling the sweat around his hairline. “I _knew_ his birthday is at the end of August but like my brain decided to separate that with me making plans to fly out.” 

“He’ll forgive you.”

“I won’t forgive myself!” 

Liz scowls at him. “Timmy, listen. With the rate that you two are attached, I don’t think this is the _only_ birthday you’re going to be around for.” 

“Well, suppose that’s right,” Timmy starts, slightly panting with the sudden shock. “It’s the _first_ and I missed it? What a lame ass person.” 

“You can always make it up with a nice gift,” Liz suggests, tugging him upwards so he’ll put all his weight on his own feet. 

“That’s a problem though, don’t you think? I make art, and he can buy the gallery. What do you give a man who already has everything?” Finally, Timmy feels like his knees regained some strength. He pushes against Liz, nodding to her that he’s fine, probably.

“Come on, we both know that’s not how Armie is.” She chastised gently, handing him his flute back. 

“But it doesn’t make it any easier!” Because his nerves are buzzing, Timmy brings the glass to his mouth and tips it back, emptying it in one go. 

“What do _you_ want him to have?” Liz asks meaningfully. “And if it comes from you, I know he’ll cherish it forever.” 

“I-” Timmy twirls the glass between his fingers, contemplating. “I was thinking actually… of maybe asking him to fly with me to France.” He finishes, glancing at Liz with uncertainty. 

She considers it, nodding solemnly, then shrugs. “Do it. Ask him.” 

“But his birthday! He might have plans already! You know he gets very few days off. I’m not whisking him away on his fucking birthday.” Timmy whines, stomping his feet on the pavement out of frustration. “I’m going to need a solution that would split me into two; it’s a win-win situation. I either succeed or die.” 

Liz throws her hands up in the air as if in surrender. “It’s your business, the two of you.” She says. “But let me just say this one thing: Don’t _ever_ assume you’d know what Armie wants before asking him. Because you could be wrong, and he’ll think it’s what you want, so he’ll give it. But Timmy,” she touches his arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re the best thing that he’s ever had in awhile, so please, just _ask_ him. You know how it is in his life. Not a lot of people do that.”

“It’s not just that. We’ve just been seeing each other for - what? - one month? No, about to be two in a bit, but you get my point.” Timmy waves vaguely. “I think I’d be asking too much.” 

“Was that ever a problem for him? Giving you too much?”

Timmy looks up to the sky, pressing his lips together. “No,” he answers. “He tells me all the time that it’s what he does best.” 

“There you go.” 

*******

“Hey,” Timmy blurts out. “Can I ask you something?” 

Armie’s attention is immediately shifted to him, closing the book he’s reading and clapping a hand on Timmy’s ankles that are crossed on his lap. “Sounds ominous,” he notes, smiling assuringly. 

Timmy tries to smile, but the nerves are paralyzing and he’s pretty sure it looks very strained and forced. “Be honest?” 

Suddenly, Armie is twisting his body towards him, attentive and worried. They arrange themselves on Timmy’s couch so they’re facing each other, sitting close enough to watch one another’s face clearly. 

“Is something wrong?” Armie is tentatively reaching out to him, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. 

Not having any of it, Timmy locked their fingers together, his thumb stroking over Armie’s. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just-” he struggles to explain himself, frowning, clearing his throat. 

“Timmy?” Armie prompts, lowering his head so he can look at Timmy, who seemed to have spaced out staring at his emerald couch. 

“Right! Well, Pauline will be having this party on September first for the success of her last movie. It’s going to be a small celebration in our town - rather than in Paris, so I’ll be flying out.” Timmy supplies nervously, his words rushing out of his mouth.

“And?” Armie is patiently waiting for him to continue though Timmy can really tell that his anxiety rubbed off on the other man. 

“My mom got me a flight which is early morning on the 27th, but of course I can still reschedule, I mean I _will_.” Timmy sees a flash of recognition in Armie’s eyes, so he quickly adds “What I’m trying to ask you is if you’ll be interested? To come to France with me? You’re totally free to do what you want on your birthday, and I’ll be here if you are, I’m just asking because I’m not sure about the timing. It’s too soon?” By the end of it, he’s wincing to himself, eyes shutting close like it could shield him. 

The silence that followed stretched for too long. Timmy doesn’t even think he can hear Armie breathe. “Oh my God, it’s too soon right? That’s why you have that face-” 

“Timmy, Timmy! No, wait, let me talk.” Armie startles out of his own shock, gripping Timmy’s hands where they’re joined. “Yes, I’d like to come to France with you. I’m going to need to arrange a whole bunch of stuff at work so I can vacate my schedule from 27th until… until when?” 

“September third? We can compromise.” Timmy has a blossoming relief in his chest but holds it off, not daring to assume. 

“Okay, cool, but yeah, I’ll fly with you. I’m _thrilled_ to.” Armie’s other hand moves to his cheek, cupping his face as he tells him while looking him in the eyes. 

Timmy’s breath rippled out of him as he laughed nervously. “But your birthday! I mean, you must have some plans!” 

“Timmy, I’m probably just going to go out and get shit-faced drunk with Viktor and a bunch of other friends who happen to be free.” Armie says, dismissive. “I know for a fact that my parents will insist on dinner or whatever, and they’re separated okay? But they’ll insist on sitting on the same side of the table like they’re a couple in love and making everyone miserable by it. So no, you’re not keeping me from having the time of my life. I _want_ to come to France with you.” 

“Really? Oh my God, okay, that’s… That’s good, great, even. I - Armie? Are you alright?” Timmy’s relief was cut short when he realized that Armie’s face is just starting to regain color. 

“What? Oh, yeah. I mean, as good as I can be, considering I really thought for a second that you’re breaking up with me. I’m good.” The deathly paleness has started to fade and he removed his hand from Timmy’s face. “Jesus, give me a second, I think I’m shaking a bit.” He says, tapping the center of his chest.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m a whole bundle of nervous wreck about this, too.” Timmy fumbles in his seat, releasing Armie’s hand so he can gather him in his arms and pull him in an embrace. 

“Let’s just cuddle together.” Armie says, clutching his back. 

“Alright.” 

*******

A week before his birthday, Armie is overworked and has lost four pounds. He sits on his desk, drinking coffee as he waits for Jenny to enter his office. 

“Mr. Hammer?” She announces her presence, closing the door behind her and walking straight to his desk. 

Armie lifts his head up then puts his mug down. “Hey,” he motioned for her to take a seat. 

“So,” she clears her throat as she settles in the seat, watching him. “Wow, you look-”

Waving his hand, Armie says “Yeah, I know. It’s fine; I’ll get rest tonight.” 

“Okay,” Jenny answers, rolling out the word, not believing. “If you say so. Good news for you; you actually succeeded in clearing your schedule for your birthday week. Well, as much as you can, at least. The ones left can be handled by Viktor while you’re away, and then the rest can just be sent to you in email.” She recites, scrolling on the iPad screen as she reads through his schedule.

“Right, shit,” Armies hand flies to his head, rubbing his temples. “I have to talk to Viktor about that. Do you know if he’s still here?” He sighs, closing his eyes. 

Jenny shakes her head. “I passed by him in the lobby before I came up. I don’t know where he went though.” 

Armie taps his fingers on the desk, thinking. “That’s fine, thanks. I’ll just ring him in his flat or something.” He takes his phone out, sending Tom a text. 

“Alright, there you go. You managed to compress your workload, you’re cleared to fly out for a week - actually, ten days.” Jenny looks at him suggestively. 

“Ah,” Armie can’t help the smile on his face. “Hold that thought. I’ll ask Timmy.” 

Jenny actually giggles. “Congratulations, Mr. Hammer; you did it without ending up on a stretcher.” 

Armie actually feels himself sag with relief, his bone-deep exhaustion seeping into his body yet inexplicably satisfied. “Thank you, Jen.” He says with a smile. 

Rising to her feet, Jenny nods to him, pleased. “Of course, Mr. Hammer. We’re a team.” 

“Totally nothing to do with Timmy winning you over with baked pastries?” 

“None in the slightest.” 

There wasn’t much left to do at the office after that, so he just helped Jenny to tidy up the rest of their paperworks and insisted on buying her an entire cake from the cafe to bring home to her daughter. She pretended to be discontented, telling him that he’s encouraging her eight year-old to consume too much sweets, but Armie saw her send a text to her husband, who responded excitedly and looked forward to dinner that night. He smiled to himself but didn’t say a thing, just handed her the box and hailed her a cab.

Tom has long been used to driving Armie straight home for over a month now; it was just a matter of whether it was to Timmy’s or his own. He nods as greeting and tells Tom to drive to his building, sinking into the backseat and straight into a nap. It wasn't a deep sleep; strangely, he knows that he's subconsciously very aware of the moving vehicle despite the slumber. At the same time, he was dreaming, and it's toeing the line between his consciousness and sleep. Armie's brain conjured, for some reasons, the large classroom in Columbia University where he had economics, filled with students and a presentation coming through the screen. He’s used to his brain reminding him in the weirdest ways there is, so when Viktor popped into the scene in his head, apparently a professor now, Armie feels himself sputter a laugh, resulting in him waking up. 

“Was I out that long?” Armie asks, rubbing his eyes as Tom already pulled over the curb. 

“You’re dead-beat,” Tom commented with a nod. 

Laughing, Armie gathers his briefcase and climbs out of the car, thanking Tom. The walk to his floor was lost to his bleary steps and half-asleep standing up state in the elevator; struggling with the light whenever he has to open his eyes fully when people come and go. He sees a few familiar faces and exchange curt nods with them, not bothering with small talk since there’s a huge chance his brain is not fit for any discussion at this point. When the elevator door finally opens to his floor, Armie thinks he smells some hearty dinner cooking and prays like he never did in a while that Timmy is in his flat. 

When he enters his apartment, Armie’s fist pumps in the air. He shrugs off his coat and tugs at his tie, throwing them all on his couch with his briefcase as he walks straight into his kitchen. Timmy is rolling out a dough, Spotify playing him a random hit song at the moment. Armie swears he feels his heart soar and his knees buckle. 

“Hey you,” Armie greets, his speech slightly slurred because of his smile. 

Timmy looks up and returns his grin, eyes shining even brighter when he sees Armie roll his sleeves to his elbow. “You’re back,” he says, craning his neck for a kiss. 

Wrapping his arms around Timmy’s waist, Armie takes his mouth into his, enjoying the soft drag of their lips and sighing. “If I knew what was waiting for me, I’d be here sooner.” He answers, moving behind Timmy for a back-hug and hooking his chin on his shoulder. “What can I do?”

“Stop cuddling me, for starters.” Timmy lightly elbows him then bends as he laughs, Armie’s newly grown facial hair tickling his neck. “Now you’re just going to make me rip the dough - oh! There it goes. I’m not rolling that again, you’re fixing it or you’re eating pizza margherita in three oddly-ripped shapes.” 

Armie laughs at the state that the dough ended up in and steps away, taking the second apron hanging by the kitchen island and washing his hands. For obvious reasons, Armie has never been trusted to handle pizza dough, but he’s pretty useful when it comes to kneading. He takes the ruined piece anyway and folds it together. 

“So now we have this ball,” Armie throws it from one palm to another. 

Timmy is already shaking with laughter, knowing full well where it was going. “Oh my God, you’re going to take _all_ night.” 

“You know what? I think I’ll try my luck again. Maybe I can roll my own pizza now.” Armie says, starting to stretch the dough and immediately punching a hole right through, the hanging end too heavy to be held in the air, resulting in the dough splitting once more. 

The flour on the kitchen island flew into the air as Timmy fell to the surface with laughter. “No, no, this won’t do.” He says, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. He held out his hand after Armie formed it back in one piece. “Give that back and take care of the salad instead.” 

Armie hands the poor dough back and wipes the excess flour on his apron. He turns to the sink to rinse the rest and walks to where Timmy gestured the salad to be. “What’s this?” 

“Panzanella,” Timmy answers, the dough in his hands already taking the shape of a proper pizza. “You have an awful lot of stale bread.” 

“Yeah, I know. I mean, what do I do with this?” Armie concedes, because he’s got to the point where he’s just resigned to the fact that Timmy obviously has a more refined palate than him so his own culinary opinion will hardly be well-informed enough to matter. 

“Chop the tomatoes, put salt and pepper, rinse the capers then squeeze the water out, then add to the tomatoes. Slice the onions, put them in, then anchovies, add pepper, vinegar, olive oil. Did you get it all?” 

“Yup.” Armie answers too quickly to be true. 

Timmy sighs. “I don’t want to hear you complain about water in that goddamn salad, Armand.” 

To no one’s surprise, Timmy had to repeat the instructions all over again to Armie at every step until he finally got to toss all the ingredients together and ripped basil to sprinkle on top. Timmy had taken their pizza into the oven by the time Armie finished with his task. 

“Why three?” Armie asks, wiping his hand on a towel. 

Timmy is wiping the kitchen island as he looks back. “I thought we could give one to Viktor.” He responds casually. 

No matter how often they’re in each other’s apartments, Armie never quite got over the feeling of breathlessness when Timmy does something domestic so unthinkingly. His chest clenches and unclenches, helpless with the onslaught of Timmy’s unrelenting presence. It wasn’t limited to Timmy being so comfortable in his space, it’s also how he staked his claim so openly; this is Timmy’s drawer, his food pile, his shelf corner, his chair, his mug. Months ago, if anyone would leave breadcrumbs of their presence in his life like this, Armie wouldn’t even put it past himself to uproot his entire apartment and move to a different floor. But now, watching Timmy hang his apron and drink tea from his mug, Armie doesn’t think there’s a lot he wouldn’t give to keep things this way. 

“So? What do you think?” Timmy prompts, raising a brow at him. 

Armie moves to close the distance between them, unable to resist the pull. “If you’re up for it, we can invite him over.” 

Timmy smiles, cocking his head to the side curiously but pleased with the idea nonetheless. “I’d love that. What brought this on?” He opens his arms for Armie to step into so they can stand pressed up to the stomach, their limbs looped around each other’s torsos. 

“You know I’ve been bulldozing through my work these days,” Armie starts, watching every shift in Timmy’s face. “And I just finished earlier, so for the week leading up to my birthday, I practically just have my daily task to keep up with, the pre-scheduled meetings to attend…” He trails off, wanting to tease because Timmy’s brows are going up to his forehead and he’s already holding his breath.

“What, asshole?” Timmy smacks him on the chest, not having it. 

Armie laughs and takes his hand, kissing it. “If you want it, I have ten days off.” 

Timmy’s smile started in his eyes, like it always seems to do when he’s uncontrollably happy, and then finally showed on his lips as his laugh broke out of his chest in a loud huff. “We can have ten days?” 

Armie nods, helpless against the influence of Timmy’s expressed joy with the news that his own face is stretched into the widest grin. “We can have ten days.” He repeats, stern and sure. 

It’s good that Timmy still has his wits with him as he reaches backwards to put his mug down before climbing Armie as he throws his arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. “Ten days!” He exclaimed, his disbelief so evident in his voice. “Whose birthday is it really? Yours or mine? My mom would be delighted, she’s calling me later.” 

Truthfully, Armie is at the point where Timmy’s happiness is as good as his own. It doesn’t discount the fact that spending ten days off of work in a European town with him isn’t how he wants to spend his birthday, because it is. Not limited to the fact that it’s a free week, but particularly because it’s with Timmy. Instead of opening his mouth and saying things that might derail them, Armie just hooks his hands under Timmy’s thighs and hoists him up his waist, walking them to the kitchen counter and setting Timmy down on the top so they can make out. The news made them giddy, unable to tamper down the laughter bubbling out of their chests even between kisses, until the oven sounded and they broke down into giggles on each other’s shoulders. 

Timmy jumps off the kitchen island, stealing one last kiss from Armie before taking out their pizza. “Call Viktor to come up,” he reminds Armie. 

Begrudgingly, Armie trudged away from the kitchen to fetch his phone on the couch. He hears Timmy chuckle behind him and he turns his head to pout. Timmy just rolls his eyes at him and shoos him away. Armie chuckles to himself, arriving at the couch and pulling his very nearly drained phone out of his briefcase. 

Viktor answers his call almost immediately after the first few rings. “Yeah? Something up?” 

“Nah, where are you?” Armie asks, walking into his bedroom to plug his phone in a charger. 

“Flat,” Viktor answers simply, the television a muted background noise as he speaks. “Why? You need something?” 

“Did you have dinner yet? Timmy made pizza margherita and some salad that he wanted to share with you, but I told him you should just come over.” Armie responds absently, fiddling with his drawers. 

“Oh dear God, you’re turning into _that_ couple.” Viktor whines through the line, groaning. 

“And you’re turning into an ungrateful piece of shit.” Armie retorts smartly, chuckling at Viktor. “Are you coming or not?” 

“I am, I am,” Viktor insists as if he’s afraid that the invitation would be taken back. “Give me a moment, I’ll be up there in ten minutes or something.” 

Armie grumbles in acknowledgement. “Let yourself in,” he says and waits for Viktor to respond before hanging up. 

When he returns to the kitchen, Timmy is setting up the table; the pizzas served on three separate plates, the enormous serving of salad in the middle. He’s taking out a fresh fruit tart out of the fridge and transferring it on a pie stand that Armie didn’t even know he owned. To make himself useful, Armie rummages for a bottle of wine and fetches three glasses, setting the latter on the table along with the other arrangements while he puts the wine in ice to chill. 

“He’ll come up in a bit,” Armie says, stretching loudly. 

Timmy hums, watching him. “Squeezing in all your work finally taking a toll?” He asks with an effort to sound easygoing that didn’t escape Armie’s notice. 

“In exchange for ten days with you? Worth it.” Armie is already standing in front of Timmy before he finishes the sentence, cupping his face into his hands and pecking at his nose. 

Scrunching his face, Timmy nuzzles into the curve of Armie’s palm, still unsettled for some reasons. “You’d tell me if I’m asking too much of you, right?” 

Armie’s face softened, thoroughly touched with Timmy’s endless consideration of him even after everything that he’s already done for Armie. “‘Not to me, not if it’s you.’” Armie quotes Pylades, knowing Timmy would catch the reference. 

True to his assumption, Timmy’s face lights up, positively delighted. Playfully, he pinches at his flank. “Someone’s straying into my classical Greek collection.” 

“They’re leatherbound and heavy. I was curious if you actually know black magic or you’re just born unbelievably talented.” Armie responds, just so he can be a smartass. 

Timmy scowls at him, though his laughter breaks the expression on his face. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Hmm, I’d say it got me pretty far already.” Armie answers suggestively, leaning down to kiss Timmy but he blocks his face with his palm. 

“No, wha - ew!” Timmy pushes Armie’s face out of his palm when he feels his tongue licking on it. “You’re an actual asshole,” he complains, wiping his hand on Armie’s shirt with a grimace as the other man laughs. 

They break apart when they hear the fumbling from the front door, Viktor stepping into the apartment and obnoxiously calling out. 

“Hello, Armie? Timmy? You have company, I hope whatever you’re doing you’re already fixing yourselves now!” Viktor sing-songs from the entrance, knocking his fist on the wooden shelf to make more noise to announce his presence. 

“Fucking kill it with a fire.” Armie grouches, earning himself a slap on the arm from Timmy. 

“Come in! We’re at the table!” Timmy yells back, his voice carrying over to the other end of the apartment.

“Yeah but are you appropriate?” 

“Just get the hell back out, please.” Armie snaps back, baiting his brother to bicker with him because it’s fun. 

Because he’s easy, Viktor finally walks into view, offended. “Shut up, Timmy wanted me here.” He points a threatening finger at Armie, then turns to Timmy with a smile. “How’s everything going?” 

Timmy shrugs, clearly amused with the interaction between them. “Coming along just fine. I’m already done with the initial meetings for the musical adaptation I was talking about; I think they like me.” 

Armie scoffs, finding it hard to believe. “Who doesn’t like you?” 

“Oh, you’d be very surprised.” Timmy responds, waving Viktor to come forward. “Come on, let’s eat. Food is getting cold. Viktor, you take this spot. That ugly shaped pizza is Armie’s.” 

Armie sputters and Viktor catches himself on his knees, guffawing. 

It was one of the most chaotic dinners Armie has had with Viktor since they were still young teenagers and believed that their parents actually liked one another. It made him feel lightheaded to experience it again; openly teasing, threatening to spill each other’s dirty laundry, making jokes at the other’s expense. Timmy didn’t even miss a beat when it came to the banter. He chimes in whenever he wants, quipping smartly over the two brothers and throwing one-liners like he’s built for it. It appears like irony is the theme of his life, because it wasn’t even a momentous event, and yet Armie can really tell that the pieces of his life are finally falling into their rightful places. Over the years, it’s just been him and Viktor who really stuck together like families should, but they both have their separate lives, and both had baggage from parents who were failing but indifferent about it. He knew, at the back of his head, that there are countless things they never touch, because a part of their unspoken pact is to never poke at each other’s old wounds. For Armie, it had been a gaping wide hole that he was left with after realizing that his home consisted of two people who tolerated each other on their best days and a younger brother that he would bleed himself dry to protect. 

After so many years of living with it, Armie has as good as already forgotten what he’d been missing out on. Tonight, having dinner with Timmy and Viktor, he gets an overwhelming sense of relief that it wrecks his breath out of his chest, realizing that if he’d ever have to explain what home feels like, this is what he’d say. 

They just finished dessert when Timmy’s phone finally rings on the counter, his mother calling him from France. He excused himself, thrilled to talk with her knowing she has news to share about Pauline, and him about Armie’s stay. 

“Ah, so he’s French _French_.” Viktor remarks, watching Timmy pace around the kitchen as he talks with his mother in French and then disappearing through the balcony door. 

Armie chuckles, swirling his wine in the glass. “Yep, very. Imagine his disgust on how America adapts their food.” 

Viktor scoffs, laughing, then gestures on the dinner table. “Well, by all means! Please! He cooks so well. You really hit it with him, you goon. How can he put up with you?” 

“Honestly? It’s a lot of work.” Armie confessed, drinking the rest of his wine then pouring himself some more. 

Sensing the change in the atmosphere, Viktor straightens in his seat, fixing Armie with a solemn stare. “How so?” 

In his mind, Armie knows it wasn’t all green meadows and blooming daisies, but for the life of him he can’t find it in him to feel exhausted by it. If anything, it made him smile. “Adjusting our life around each other, going back and forth from my place to his, even when we’re dead on our feet,” Armie considers his words, then adds “ _Especially_ when we’re dead on our feet.” 

“You don’t sound troubled at all though.”

“I know. It’s because I don’t care.” Viktor stares at him, dumbfounded. Armie meets his eyes, serious and frank. “It’s so much damn work to keep it all up; we’ll be the first one to tell you that. And Timmy? Hell, he puts together a meal for us both even when he’s had a long day. I go through my work until I can’t see straight anymore just so I can get off early and take him out to dinner. There’s extra clutter to clean because his things are lying around all the time, and I know I’m an added chore at his place just the same. He endures stupid hours of presentation rehearsals some days because it’s the only way he can spend time with me, and I stood by his side in exhibits and showcases even if I knew jackshit about art and music, and actually enjoyed it.” 

“And you’re sticking around.” Viktor gasps out. “I knew it was a good thing pretty early on, but _fuck_. Fuck man. You had some solid two months.” 

Armie nods along, then drinks a sip of his wine. “I’m leaving on the 27th with him, to France. His sister is having a party after a successful movie. I’ll be gone for ten days.” 

Viktor jumps in his seat. Out of all things Armie expects to hear out of his brother’s mouth, he didn’t think it would be “That’s your birthday. You’re taking a vacation… with him, and his family.” 

Scowling in confusion, Armie asks “Isn’t that what I said?” 

“You’ve never.” Viktor clarifies. “You never did this before.” 

“Have I ever had _this_ before?” Armie huffs at the memory of all the people that came by his life, shaking his head.

“You…” Viktor is struggling with himself, and if it wasn’t a profound conversation Armie totally would’ve mocked him to the ends of the Earth. “You do know what this means, right?” 

Armie chuckles at that, understanding what his brother implied. “Yeah.” 

“You’re in love with him, is what I mean.” 

“I know.” 

Viktor had a full body response; his legs kicking out, his torso hitting the back of his chair, his hands flying to his face. “You _know,_ ” he repeats, astounded. 

“Of course, I know.” Armie answers with a snort, glaring at his brother. “I don’t sit around him and think I just have a strange heartburn. When I’m around him and my chest clamps down on itself, I _know_ that’s what it means.” 

“Jesus Christ, and you’re not running away?” 

“Hell, I’m running away _with_ him. France, remember?” 

There’s a moment of silence settling between them, which they needed, just to absorb all that’s been said. 

“I’m so happy for you.” Viktor says breathlessly, moving out of his chair to give Armie a hug. 

Armie laughs at that, clapping his brother on the back. “Not nearly as I am, brother.” He looks over the clearance, Timmy emerging back from the balcony and giving him a meaningful smile as he catches them pulling away from an embrace. “Not even close."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did that come out of nowhere? For you to decide. Is my pacing and transitioning in this fic somewhat confusing? Yes, I will tell you that. See you next week for their trip! (Hint: 🥵)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful mood today. I just submitted the last of my academic work! My semester officially ended! In other news, I received more translation work /sigh/ Can’t truly have nice things, I suppose. Thanks for the lovely comments, as always!!

The night before their flight to France, Timmy is standing in the middle of his apartment, staring at his gift. Saoirse is thankfully not saying a word, still in leotards as she’s just coming down from ballet training the entire day. There’s a beef stew simmering in the kitchen which she cooked for their dinner, insisting on it because Timmy all but kicked her out of her own apartment and forced her to live in his a couple of days back since his residence is nearer to the studio that she keeps going to for callbacks. Saoirse liked to tease him that he just wanted her there so she can look over the apartment while he’s gone with Armie, but nothing in her eyes ever indicated that she meant it. Timmy means well. 

“What?” Saoirse finally grouses, rolling her eyes to the back of her head in slight irritation. “Timmy, you two are leaving tomorrow. In fact, he’ll be picking you up in a bit. Don’t tell me you’re second guessing your gift.” 

Timmy turns to her, his face wrinkling in worry. “Did I overdo it? I mean, it’s just bookends right? Except I sketched and rendered it myself and had it custom made and maybe he’ll think I’m creepy when we’re only dating for two month.”

“Am I seriously-” Saoirse grumbles, mostly to herself, then makes a frustrated gesture with her hand. “Did you hear what you said? Armie thinking you’re creepy? For literally making him a gift? One time I saw you make him coffee and I swear he’d kiss the ground you stood on if I wasn’t watching.” 

“It’s intense.” Timmy says uselessly, as if he’s talking to the bookends in his hands. He shivered then put the gift in the box, tying the bow as he spoke. “Us two,”

There was a satisfying crunch when Saoirse twisted her upper body in stretching. “The intensest,” she says. 

“That’s not a word.”

“It has to be. For you and Armie.” 

Timmy just flops down on his couch, resting his head on the back of the seat and staring at the low-lying lights. 

“No seriously, what’s up?” Saoirse leaves her spot on the mat to move in front of Timmy and stand over him. She poked his ankles with her toes, waiting for him to shift his gaze to her before putting her hands on her hips. “Come on, spill it. Rare moment right here; I don’t like being a couple therapist.”

“We’re away ten days.” 

“Please at least tell me something I don’t know.”

Timmy sucks his lips in, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “It’s just… I mean I’m-” he takes a deep breath but never got the words out, his face too hot for comfort. 

“What!” Saoirse shouts, swatting at his hands when he puts his face in his palms, impatient by his stalling. 

“We haven’t had sex!” Timmy blurts out, his entire face burning that he feels dizzy with it, eyes closed as if it would save him. 

Saoirse’s face went through at least three phases of surprise, amusement and consideration before settling to discomfort. “Oh, right. That,” she clears her throat to disguise her laughter. 

“Shit, oh my God. I feel like a prom virgin.” Timmy whines, collapsing completely on the couch. 

“So uhm,” Saoirse is still holding her laughter when she sits next to him. “I don’t really want to hear this, but I can’t deny it's funny as hell.” 

Timmy is already clutching his hair in frustration. “I get it, like really, I do. We talked about it and we had our moments of almost - you know.” He sighs, going a bit cross-eyed at the memory then shaking himself out of it. “But like, we’re over two months in and I’m just - argh! I feel like I’m in a constant state of blue balls and I can’t complain because it’s obviously very important to him and I’m acting like a hormonal teenager.” 

“Just ask him.” Saoirse says simply. Turning his head, Timmy raised a brow at her, prompting. “You two literally have the healthiest relationship _ever_. And by that I mean everyone among our age group. Your twenties are supposed to be wasted in toxic relationships and sleeping around and then there’s this elite percentage of the population that are either married or in a stable relationship.” She gestures at him, indicating his whole person. 

Timmy considers this, chewing at his lips. He’s well aware of that, logically, because he’s had a fair share of relationships and flings on top of the observation that Saoirse mentioned. Deep down, he knows he can talk to Armie about anything, this particularly. 

“He’s never asked anything from me.” Timmy confessed quietly. Saoirse fidgets beside him, curious. “It’s just this one thing - to wait, that is. Aside from that, nothing.” 

A tense silence fills the air for a moment, both of them mulling over what Timmy has just said. He pushes himself to sit up straight, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He knows it’s not something to be worried about, and that Armie wants him just as much and doesn’t really try to hide it. Still, Timmy loves physical touch like no other, and it’s part of the process of getting intimate. In the back of his head, he can’t help the voice that tells him that Armie is withdrawing it to set a barrier between them; he’s with Timmy but not fully, like he’s just dipping his toes into the water with no intention of diving in. All that goes against all evidence that Timmy has over the months that they’re together, but it’s a difficult battle when the only voice speaking on the matter is the one inside your head. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, wiping his face. “I’m sorry I’m dumping my dry spell on you.” 

Saoirse doesn’t even look bothered. She just glanced at him, attentive. “What the deal about this is between the two of you,” she starts thoughtfully. “And mad respect for Armie for this - honestly, I have no idea how he holds back; he eye-fucks you all day.” 

Timmy let out a startled laugh, knowing exactly what Saoirse is referring to. Ever since day one, Armie has just been so unflinchingly honest, words and body language combined. Well, of course he lies, but they’re always about blatant, useless things so he can annoy Timmy. It’s never about the bigger things; the ones that matter. He would hash out a conversation even if it makes them both want to crawl out of their skins. 

“I know right?” Timmy quips with a snort. “He’s not dating a minor, fuck this shit. I’m perfectly _able._ And willing!”

Saoirse made a disgusted face at him but he couldn’t be bothered to take offense. He just sits there, fuming, brow raised so he can urge her to go on. 

“I’m on his side on this.” Saoirse says carefully. “It’s electric between you two, and everyone who’s ever met the two of you can attest to that, but we all know that doesn’t last. If you smashed early in the game one of you probably would’ve thought the other is a good lay and just chalk it all up to that. There-” She made a satisfied huff, gesturing at Timmy’s clenching fists as he listened. 

Hearing it made Timmy want to burst out in defensive anger. It wasn’t _all_ that. “This sexual tension is just fun on TV.” He complains, jaw tensing. 

“If anything, sex doesn’t really solve shit other than your hormones.” Saoirse retorts. “It’s not going to ease the tension or erase it or whatever. I think it’s founded on good reason. You would’ve been so driven by sex that your relationship just revolves and depends on that. You already know all this; that pretty little head of yours is good for thinking too.”

“Yeah, I know.” Timmy agrees and sighs again, slouching on the couch. “How long though? I mean, it’s just… The longer this drags on, the more I keep thinking that I’m not doing _enough_. It’s like, maybe he still doesn’t think I’m in it a hundred percent. I know he wants to be in this for the long haul, he speaks about it so openly. I’m just scared he’s going to walk up to me one day like ‘Well, that was fun, but I don’t think we want the same things. You’re too-’” He scrunches his face and claws in the air like that supplies a proper adjective. 

Saoirse just watched him as he flailed his hands around. “Are you though? On the same page?” 

“You know I am. We’ve been putting monumental efforts in this relationship that it made our schedule look _easy_.” Timmy snaps, thinking of all the ways they squeezed in dates or any form of seeing each other in the last months. 

“I’m at a loss here. Clearly there’s nothing left to be said that you don’t already know.” 

“I just want to complain and maybe have a nervous breakdown. What if it does happen in France? I’ve never had sex in my childhood bedroom.” 

“Fantastic information to know.” Saoirse deadpans. “Are you prepared to still have nothing for ten days or will you be snapping at him soon?”

“Are you kidding? If I could have my way I would be so fucking down to defiling that goddamn bedroom. Every time I see him I just want to climb him like a tree.” 

“You and half the city, my lad.” 

Timmy grimaces at that so hard that his brows pulled uncomfortably at his forehead. “Yeah, I fucking hate that part, too. Maybe my jealous streak would die down when he finally smashes with me.” 

*******

Timmy can feel Armie’s amused stare from the edge of the bed, watching him stand by the closet door with a box in his hand. Thankfully, he’s just waiting for Timmy to gather up the courage to get the scene rolling, although it’s pretty clear to anyone who has eyes that he’s going to give his gift to Armie. Still, Timmy shifts his weight from one foot to another, unsure and nervous, never daring to lift his gaze from the bow on top of the box to meet Armie’s eyes. He hears the shuffle on the bed; Armie readjusts himself on the sheets so his legs stretch out in front of him, his arms supporting his upper body as he leans back. 

Taking a deep breath, Timmy steps forward and sits beside Armie, not really able to gather enough confidence, but it’s not like he has a choice. “So uhm,” he clears his throat, his voice coming too raspy that he sounds sick with it. “Well, this is your gift. Advanced happy birthday… I guess?” 

Armie is still smiling widely, incredibly amused and not hiding it. “Thanks, _I guess_.” He takes the box from Timmy but doesn’t say anything more, still waiting for him to get it all out. 

“I don’t have a fucking clue why I’m so insecure about this.” Timmy confessed, making Armie coo and pull him to kiss the top of his head. Armie made a move to break away but Timmy clutched at the fabric of his shirt, not letting go. “First of all, it’s not practical to bring it all the way to France then give it to you because it’s heavy. And… uhm, I think I just don’t know? I mean… yeah.” He finishes weakly, still hugging Armie and hiding his face on the hollow of his collarbones. 

Still as considerate as ever, Armie just hums and rubs circles on his back. “The last part doesn’t make a lot of sense. Do you want to try that again?” He asks, and Timmy can hear the smile in his voice but he’s still gentle and understanding. 

“No, not at all.” Timmy stubbornly clings tighter, feeling like it’s going to solve his insecurity if he just continues to hide his face. 

“Baby, this won’t do.” Armie chides kindly, pushing them apart so he can cup Timmy’s cheeks. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

_We ought to smash,_ Timmy’s brain supplies and it was a moment of clarity. _This_ is what Armie is talking about, and what Saoirse was pointing out to him, and frankly something he’s already aware of. It’s so easy to use sex as a bandaid solution to every bumps on the road, no matter how much they claim to be adults in this relationship. 

Desperate to do better, Timmy blurts “I don’t know how to please you.” He could have phrased it leagues better than that, but it’s already hanging heavily between them now, and there’s no taking it back no matter how hot the shame that came with it feels like in his chest. 

There was a long moment where Armie looked absolutely confused. His mouth is hanging open as he blinks repeatedly at Timmy, trying to process what he just heard. “I’m sorry, is this the same Timmy I’ve been with for two months?” 

Timmy shrugs off Armie’s hand on his face, still flushed hot and embarrassed. “Don’t be a smartass,” he grumbles. “I mean - it’s stupid, by the way - I’m just not sure if there’s still anything I can give because… well,” he motions at Armie, adding another shrug. 

“It makes all the difference, because _you_ give it.” Armie emphasized, already taking the box apart to take the gift out. He opens his mouth to add something else, his eyes focused and determined, but the words seem to catch in his throat when the papers are cleared and he gets to see what’s inside the box. 

Timmy watches the slow recognition as it moves from Armie’s eyes and into a smile on his lips. He puts a hand into the box, tracing the contents before taking it out and turning it on his palms. “I sketched and rendered it, and uh, got someone to make it into bookends.” He explains weakly. 

“You made this?” He asks Timmy, stunned and openly amazed that his eyes look like they’re shining with it. Armie’s laugh came out in a huff, bewildered, as he ran his fingers on the sculpted miniature of his company building, the other end a miniature of the cafe beside it; both places equally present in all their attempts to meet despite their works. Armie looks at Timmy again, shaking his head. “You always knock me off my feet, each time even more than the last.” He says, reaching out to Timmy to kiss him fully on the lips. 

The thing is, Armie kisses like no one Timmy has ever met. It’s so packed and brutal, unforgiving in its assault on the senses that it never fails to make his legs feel like jelly. There’s a lot more to it than just a gesture of intimate affection; it speaks volumes, and it would’ve been a breathtaking read if only Timmy’s brain doesn’t turn to putty every single time. 

When they break away, Timmy has to blink rapidly to stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. “It’s so I can keep hitting your head on the floor,” Timmy answers smartly, though his heart is not much in it as he internally shakes the daze from getting kissed so soundly. “I don’t want you changing your mind, you see.” 

Armie sets the gift down on the bed and literally grasps Timmy by the waist to put him on his lap. Timmy stared, dumbfounded and desperately thinking of disgusting images so he can stave off his arousal. Armie, frustratingly enough, is still in his wholesome bubble, and Timmy just wants to suck his dick or something. The split focus is really telling here. 

“Change my mind?” Armie scoffs. “Never.” 

*******

All the days that lead up to this moment have been too hectic for Armie to overthink a single bit of it. Now that they’re in a cab driving up to Timmy’s suburban family home, he finally feels the panic setting in his nerves. It has been literal ages since he got this far with someone, and even farther back when he was even half as serious. It’s finally occuring to him that he has no idea how to do this right, and he’s meeting Timmy’s posh and perfect and refined French family while he’s an American who sometimes has the tendency to act like he was raised in jail. They’d arrive just in time for dinner too, which is perfect, because Armie will probably be staring at a table with far too many cutleries than he knows what to do with and he’ll sweat enough to season his food. 

“What are you thinking about that made you look this disgusted with yourself?” Timmy asks beside him, his laughter bubbling between words. 

Because he’s a total loser when it comes to Timmy, Armie answers far too honestly. “I think I’m going to panic so hard at dinner that I’ll sweat enough to season my food.” 

Timmy’s face twists in confused repulsion. “We season our food _properly_ , thank you very much.” 

“That’s the part of the sentence you have a problem with?” 

“You act like I don’t feed you.” 

Armie laughs at that, his nerves coming down a bit as he takes Timmy by the shoulder and hugs him to his chest. Timmy threads their fingers together from there, obviously sensing his anxiousness but deciding against saying something about it. Instead, he starts pointing at the scenery as they go; telling Armie about childhood memories in the familiar street bends. It was soothing in a way that made Armie feel warm. He imagines Timmy in various stages in life; a kid on a bike with training wheels staggering on the curb, kicking around a football as a pre-teen, stumbling home drunk out of his mind as a teenager. Armie also finds it incredibly interesting how Timmy is so intimately familiar with the landscape, telling him what used to be in the place of something. He tells him about his favorite stores, his annoying neighbors, his friends’ houses, their hangout spots. Something about Timmy recalling the details of his life gets to Armie. It makes him feel greedy about all the other parts of his life that he could get into. What about his boarding school? His teachers during homeschooling? Armie wants to hear all about it. 

“The next turn would be our house,” Timmy says, leaning forward to tell the driver some directions in French. 

Armie just watched them interact, so easy and cordial. Timmy sounds like he even makes a smart remark and the driver laughs, shrugging. Since Armie doesn’t really know French and can’t succeed in learning it even after so many tries - on Timmy’s part, because Armie just listens dumbly when he speaks in French - he just turns his head to the window, taking in the neighborhood. The houses are gated and far apart; obviously a wealthier part of the countryside. A lot of the properties also look quite old and out of time, one towering manor after the other. Finally, the cab pulls over to the side and Timmy takes out the fare money and exchanges a few more pleasantries before tapping Armie to get out. The driver even helped them to get their bags out of the trunk before driving away. 

“So,” Timmy skips on his heels, excited. “This is our house,” he points to a brick-gated property with a wide yard and well-maintained landscape. 

Armie follows the clearance until his eyes landed on a classic 19th century manor, not entirely as massive as the ones around it, but still fitting the neighborhood criteria. “So like, do I curtsy to the neighbors?” 

Timmy scowls at him but laughs nonetheless. “Curtsies are for women.” 

“That’s sexist, Lord Chalamet.” 

“I will have you deported.” 

“On my birthday? I never took you to be so cruel, sire.” Armie fake-gasps, enjoying himself. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Timmy stops in his tracks to address Armie. “Is this what you’re bringing to the table when you said you wanted to be an actor? Because the industry just dodged a bullet.” 

“When you finally want to roleplay, don’t come crawling back.” Armie stops a few paces in front of Timmy, waving his finger. 

“You are the worst.” To his satisfaction and Timmy’s chagrin, he actually blushed. He tried to push it down and stalked towards the house, glaring at him. 

“Pardon me,” Armie tries to bend his knees to curtsy and wobbles entirely with the effort. 

“Deport.” Timmy gestures to his whole person, glowering. He opens the front door with his key and pokes his head in. “Ready?” He grinned at Armie teasingly. 

“I feel like I should’ve dressed better.” Armie responds, smoothing down the fabric of his clothes. 

Timmy waves at him dismissively. “When your profit enables you to buy a property here every month of your life, you can dress how you like.” He swings the door open and steps in, motioning Armie inside. 

If he has a quip at the ready, Armie forgets about it instantly as he takes in the interior of the house. It reminds him a lot of Timmy’s apartment in New York, in a way that it clearly is a residence of someone deeply involved in the arts. The walls are cream classic panelling with massive, Renaissance art hanging on the wall. The more personal photographs are standing on surfaces like the desks, bookshelves, cabinets, end tables and the top of the fireplace. They have considerably less plants and more sculptures, but even that is scarcely placed around the room. It was generally spacious and very well-lit from the tall windows, the furniture of the living room cushion on the top a massive rug. The difference here with Timmy’s apartment is that their family home is obviously more polished; their knick knacks and tokens and memorabilia lined up neatly on surfaces. 

“If you tell me you’re a European nobility, you’re essentially making all my fantasies come true.” Armie tells Timmy, still glancing around the room. He feels a scolding slap on his arm before he turns his head. “What?” He asks, laughing. 

“You’re meeting my parents tonight and this is how you’re choosing to be? A dickhead?” Timmy chides mischievously, his eyes entirely too amused for his words to have any real weight. 

“You’re right. We should’ve stopped somewhere so I can get flowers.” Armie replies, noting the amount of fresh blooms in the vases all around. 

Timmy shakes his head at him. “No, it’s fine. Don’t even think about it.” He takes his bags again, getting ready to walk. “Let’s?” 

“Remember how big of a dumbass I was on our first date?” Armie asks as he follows Timmy. “I don’t know how my luck would hold.” 

Timmy just laughs and responds to him with an assuring touch on his arm. “ _Maman? Papa? Pauline?_ ” He calls out in French, craning his neck in all directions looking for his family. 

Of all things, Armie certainly didn’t bet that the answer would come in the shape of a dog. Suddenly, it bolted through the arch on the far left, and he can only describe it to look like an actual wolf with the classic white and gray coating. Without missing a beat, Timmy drops his bags and gets on his knees, welcoming it in his arms. 

“There’s another,” Armie remarks uselessly, watching another dog dart into their space. 

Timmy just holds out his arm and the dog butts in right into his chest, knocking him on the granite floor. 

“Uh?” Armie shuffles on his feet, unsure. “Do you need help?” 

“Why do you look like that?” Timmy asks, laughing at him. “Not used to dogs? They’re nice! This is Pascal,” he tugs at the first dog. “And then Baldoin.” 

“Hi Pascal,” Armie offers his hand for the dogs to sniff. “And the other dog.” He adds, because Timmy said it with an accent so he didn’t catch what it actually was. “What are they?” He asks, delighted when the dogs wave their tails and nuzzle his hand. 

“They’re Tamaskans,” Timmy answers, shuffling Baldoin’s coat. “Papa got them as gifts during a trip for the UN in eastern Europe. We’ve had them for four years.” 

Pascal seems to really like Armie as he steps away from Timmy to fully walk up to him. Indulging the dog, Armie drops to his knees and brushes the fur around the dog’s neck. “They look like, well, _wolves_.” 

“Scared?” Timmy teased, turning Baldoin’s face towards him and doing a fake growl. 

“To pronounce that one’s name? Absolutely.” Armie quips, cooing at Pascal. 

“Baldoin!” Timmy repeats. “I’ve been teaching you to pronounce French names, you can do it.” 

Armie sighs, knowing full well all he did during those lessons were a series of prayers so his brain won’t have the opportunity to fetishize the language. “Timmy, I have some news for you,” he feigns regret while shaking his head. 

“ _Timothée!_ ” A jolly voice rings in the room, freezing Armie on the floor even after Pascal jumps out of his grasp to greet what sounded like Timmy’s father. “ _You didn’t call that you’re already here. Is this him?_ ” 

Armie has no idea what’s being said, so he just watches Timmy as he rises to his feet, waiting for cues. 

“ _But it’s my home. Do I really have to ring myself in?”_ Timmy walks over his father and gives him a hug. He turns to Armie, motioning him forward. “This is Armie,” he introduced with a shy smile. 

Holding his hand out, Armie says “Good evening. Armie Hammer.” 

“Marc Chalamet,” Timmy’s dad thankfully shakes his hand without giving him hell, but he’s smiling knowingly. “By any chance, are you Michael Hammer’s son?” 

Timmy reacts immediately. “You know his dad?” 

Armie blinks, fighting off his panic as he realizes that Timmy’s dad appears to know his, and that’s quite horrifying. To put it simply, his dad seemingly exchanged kindness for success. Generally, he’s a giant douchebag that no one can call out because he’s an important business magnate. 

Resigned, Armie nods his head, forcing a smile. “I do hope it’s not going to be held against me.” 

Marc just laughs goodnaturedly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “What nonsense,” he says. “Of course not. I’ve heard of your environmental activism. Good work.” He offers a generous smile at the end, squeezing at Armie’s shoulder. 

Helpless under the scrutiny, Armie feels the heat creep up his neck, unable to stop his hand from rubbing his nape. “Ah, well, I try.” 

“Don’t dismiss yourself like that, son.” Marc waves at him, not having it. Armie tries his hardest not to react at the endearment. “It makes a great deal of difference.” He steps back to look at their bags. “ _Quite a handful,_ ” he eyes Timmy. 

“ _Ten days,_ ” Timmy answers, keeping a straight face in spite of the prominent redness on his cheekbones. They’re back to speaking in French, which does not help with Armie’s anxiety. “ _We haven’t decided what to do with the rest._ ” He adds with a shrug. 

Marc nods along, considering. “ _I’m sure you’ll come up with something._ To the room first, yes?” He addressed Armie, still hospitable. “Nicole and Pauline are on the patio, cutting some flowers. We’ll have dinner in a bit.” He touched Armie again with a reassuring stare, seemingly aware of his uneasiness despite his best efforts. 

“Thanks for having me,” Armie responds, smiling and this time meaning it. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too,” Marc returns it with an acknowledging nod. “Our home is your home.” He makes a sound and snaps his fingers to get the dogs’ attention, commanding them in French. “ _Timothée, try to come out to the patio soon, alright?_ Patio, hmm?” He reminds, his eyes teasing that Armie doesn’t think he missed the implication even if he doesn’t speak French. 

To add to the confirmation, Timmy blushed furiously, sputtering to his father. “ _Go away, papa, that’s embarrassing._ ” 

Marc just laughs and walks away, the dogs trailing behind. 

“Your father thinks you’re going to take advantage of me.” Armie shakes his head, feigning a heartbroken tone. “The poor, peasant, old me.” 

Timmy gives him another legendary scowl. “Quit acting like an 18th century servant and get your bags, Armand.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Timmy finally hits him with his bag. 

They walked from the living room to Timmy’s bedroom bickering nonstop. Armie couldn’t resist teasing him about the framed pictures that they keep passing by. It was even more enjoyable since a lot of the older ones have Timmy almost always crying, perhaps well past four years. The huge expanse of the house is as classic as the exterior, but still feels very homey despite the apparent luxury. Armie imagines it’s an ancestral property, the bits and pieces of their family deeply embedded in every detail of the house. 

Timmy opens the door at the end of the hall, nodding forward for Armie to step in first. The bedroom has cooler, blue and gray tones, and Armie can easily figure out that it’s Timmy’s choice. The general atmosphere inside is a little dimmer and muted than the rest of the house. 

Armie follows Timmy to the dresser pushed snug on the wall. “Were you angsty as a teen?” 

Timmy actually laughs at that. “Yes,” he admits, glancing around. “Too obvious?” 

“Compared to your apartment now? Very,” Armie huffs.

“I was so out of place back then, I guess.” Timmy starts, running his fingers on the drawer and picking up a frame. “Not fitting in during secondary school was quite tough, you know how it is.” He turns the photograph to him, showing a teenager Timmy holding a freshly molded clay sculpture with mud all over himself. 

Charmed and delighted, Armie steps forward to get a better look, chuckling fondly. “Where was that?” 

“Camp, I think?” Timmy tilts his head, trying to recall the time. “It was just one of the many times that I was _unconventional_ , so to speak, but these are my talents, you know?” 

Armie closes the distance between them, taking Timmy by the waist and pressing them close. He pecks at his lips, smiling. “Oh I _know_. I have beautiful bookends to attest to that.” 

“Of course, you would think so.” Timmy rolls his eyes fondly, his blush rising to his cheeks again. “There was football, and I was good at that, but not in the same way I was in arts or music. Also, I couldn’t quite get my body to bulk.” He scrunches his nose at the memory. 

“I like it how it is.” 

“Oh, do you now?” 

Instead of answering, Armie picks him up by the waist, making Timmy squeal, and flops them both on the bed on their sides, facing each other. “It works very well.” 

Timmy is completely red in the face, but not fazed, it turns out. He pushes Armie’s shoulders so he can lay on his back and crawls to his chest, crossing his arms on top of Armie’s sternum and rests his head there. “I can tell.” 

“This is a huge bed,” Armie wiggles his brow suggestively, making Timmy hit him on the stomach. 

“You don’t start things you can’t finish.” Timmy chastises, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

“I could’ve changed my mind.” Armie runs his hand on Timmy’s back, making him shudder. 

Timmy takes an audible gulp, his breath coming out shakily. “Dinner in a bit,” he forces out. 

“Now who’s starting things he can’t finish?” 

*******

They did make it to the patio without being late, so thank God for small favors, though Timmy has to tug his pants every ten paces because he discarded his belt in the room. They’re equally on edge though, and Timmy is fuming. It’s great how dinner with your family instantly kills a boner. He smiles at Pauline, hugging her and congratulating her for the success. He kissed his mom’s cheek, telling her he missed her. Armie trails closely behind him, introducing himself in a more confident stance than his father found him in; his smile pulling at his cheeks easier. Timmy couldn’t hold a grudge against him even if he tried. Following a quick greeting and small talk with Pauline, Armie now chats gleefully with his dad; discussing activism and historical revisionism. 

“ _You said he’s a corporate CEO_ ,” Pauline nods subtly at Armie across the table, speaking in French. 

Timmy shrugs, pride swelling in his chest knowing he just snatched a good one. “ _I told you, he reads_.” 

“ _I didn’t know to this extent! Papa adores him already._ ” Pauline responds as she tries to follow the conversation, narrowing her eyes until she glowers at Timmy, envious. 

For what it’s worth, at least Timmy tries to disguise his laugh. Pauline has had a handful of boyfriends (and that one almost fiancé, but no one is ready to talk about that) that she’s brought home to introduce to their parents. None of them won their father over as quickly as Armie. 

“History is repressed because it opens the avenue to be radical. We don’t even talk about how literally not a single white person founded a religion, yet it’s the race that used it so profusely in colonizing.” Armie grouses with a slight shake of his head. 

Marc considers this with a barely suppressed grin. “That adds to it, automatically. The weaponized product of the people of color used to subsequently diminish their own contributions.” 

“ _What the fuck are they saying?_ ” Their dad actually glanced at them momentarily when Pauline cursed, though Armie remains none the wiser since he can’t seem to learn French to save his life, still on a tirade on global and historical politics. 

“ _I have no idea, but he’s so smart, isn’t he?_ ” Timmy gushes, putting his chin on his hand. 

“ _You’re disgusting._ ” Pauline kicks him under the table. 

“ _Hush and listen. He’s talking about patriarchy._ ”

“ _No, it’s feminism._ ” 

Marc holds a hand up, excusing himself. “ _It’s still revisionism. We sent you to expensive private institutions and this is what comes out of it ?_ ” He regards them both with amusement. 

“What?” Armie glances around the table in confusion. 

“Nothing at all,” Timmy smiles sweetly, rubbing at Armie’s thigh. “Pauline just keeps cursing as she talks.” 

“Pauline!” Their mother’s scolding voice rings in the open area as she steps out of the house. “No cursing at the dinner table.” 

Pauline turns at Timmy, glaring. “Actually, Timmy here is just being a real piece of work.” 

“I literally just asked what the topic was, oh my God. I’m never considered in this house.” 

“You’re stupidly overdramatic. Maybe you should consider a career shift.” 

“And leave you jobless? Pauline, please, let’s not do this.” 

Nicole sighs, sitting on the chair on Marc’s right from the end of the table. “Excuse my children. They never seem to grow out of their constant fighting.” 

Armie just laughs. “I also have a sibling, so I totally understand.” 

Smiling kindly, Nicole reaches for Armie’s hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “Well, dinner? Timmy said you’re fond of French food-”

The drink catches in Timmy’s throat and goes to his airway as the laugh escapes him and he grapples for the napkin, covering his face as he coughs. Armie eats _anything_ , but one thing he likes to do in particular is mispronounce French food. He told his mother idly in a phone call a week before that Armie loved their food, just a prank that sounded good at that time, and the sudden reminder caught him completely off-guard. Now that it’s in front of his eyes, Timmy is almost suffocating himself with the cloth, desperately trying to push his laughter down. 

“What?” Nicole looks between him and Armie. Pauline catches on really fast and breaks out in laughter. “Do you not?” She asks Armie, confused. 

Armie’s hand flies out in the air, waving. “No, no. Please, it’s nothing. I do like French food a lot.” He assures her with a kind smile, then turns to Timmy, who’s still snorting into the napkin, laughing. “Your son right now? I would say not so much.” 

Their meal rolled out rather easily from there on. Timmy still bickers with Pauline and openly teases Armie who, because of their company, just smiles patiently at him but glares through his eyes. Nicole very rarely had issues with the people that her children introduced, but that’s mostly just her and her innate consideration and gentleness. Marc, on the other hand, was always a difficult one. Not that he’s aloof or withdrawn, but he surely came off as either or both at times. He’s rather hard to please, by the ordinary folks’ standards, because the sure-fire way to engage him was through critical perspectives of society, and anything else just sounded forced small talk. Naturally, he’s very polite and reserved, but somehow it just added to the overall difficulty of finding a stable footing with him. Armie holds up just fine - _flying colors,_ Pauline even said during dessert - as he reveals his own very well-informed insights and observations, their father leaning back on his chair and thinking. Nicole even butts in every now and then, talking about real estate in New York and homelessness. Armie didn’t even take a pause to think as he went on to systematically laying out the causes and problems that lead to it and providing solutions, short-term to long-term. 

Despite the sheer size of the house, Marc and Nicole refused to hire help. This way, they ensured that the entire family will have a profound familiarity with the house, as well as to compel their children to learn housework. By the end of their dinner, Pauline and Timmy automatically rose to their feet to clear the table. Armie moved from his chair too and insisted on making himself useful. 

“Armie,” Marc calls out as he enters the kitchen, the used linens folded in his hands. “Timmy informed us that it’s your birthday tomorrow? Any plans yet?” 

Drying his hand into the towel, Armie turns to face the man and nods. “Yes, it is. And no, we haven’t really thought this far.” He laughs, looking at Timmy. 

“You’ve got to admit, we were both scared to jinx it.” Timmy adds, jutting his chin to Armie who just gestures in agreement. 

“Well, we’ll leave you to decide then, but I’m sure you’re spent from the travel.” Nicole says as she walks up to Timmy to ruffle his hair. “Timmy said you had to compress weeks worth of work to clear this week. I’m sure that was hard on you.” She taps at Armie’s shoulder, considerate, and then steps aside to put the dried plates on the rack. “You all should go ahead, I can handle things around here just fine.” 

Marc still helps her to clear out the rest and they exchange quiet quips to each other, making them both laugh. 

“What was I thinking when I came up with this?” Pauline complains, gesturing at her parents and then to Timmy and Armie. “Two couples in one house?” She groans, collapsing on a chair. 

“It’s the perfect excuse to get blackout drunk.” Armie tells her, conspiring. 

Pauline laughs and sends Armie a finger-gun. “I like you, hotshot.” 

When they finally return to the bedroom, Armie immediately sinks on the sofa at the foot of the bed, kicking his feet out. Timmy feels the bone-deep exhaustion in his own body, and he didn’t even work as much as Armie did the past few weeks. He walks to the linen closet, taking out towels and robes and putting them on the bed. 

“Don’t sleep on the sofa, you oaf.” Timmy says to Armie with a laugh. 

When he finally blinks his eyes back open, Armie scowls. “No one uses the word oaf anymore, Timothée.” 

“Why? I thought I’m Lord Chalamet?” Timmy teases smartly, throwing Armie a condescending stare. 

Laughing, Armie straightens up from where he’s half-lying down and watches Timmy move around. “Ah, so you _are_ into that.” He says cheerfully. 

“Hmm, a form of it, perhaps.” Timmy responds cheekily, moving their bags around and looking behind the door in search of his belt. 

“Uh-huh,” Armie hums thoughtfully. He gets up from the sofa and takes a robe and towel. “What are you looking for?” 

Timmy finally finds the belt looped on the closet knob. “This,” he holds it up for Armie to see. 

Instantly, Armie’s eyes lit up and he closed the distance between them. “Ooh, how did that end up there?” He asks mischievously. 

“Honestly? Earlier you seemed like you were gonna,” Timmy intentionally leaves the sentence open, tossing the belt right into the open bag on the floor. “You still gonna?” 

In hindsight, Timmy really shouldn’t be saying things like that without an extensive mental pep talk, especially with how pathetically attracted he is to Armie. So when he feels Armie’s hand tugging his shirt loose from his trousers and running his fingers on the skin from his stomach to his back, his overall mental function crashes and burns. 

“Maybe,” Armie whispers on the crook of his neck, then gives the skin a playful bite. 

With the way that he slings his limbs on Armie’s body, Timmy does, in fact, climb him like a tree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my notes, this fic shall be finished in no less than 20 chapters, and no more than 25. That definitely may still change because I have an inconsistent pacing in storytelling. I enjoyed writing this fic immensely, so I wouldn’t put it past myself to write more and more of it as time stamps in a collection. On the other hand, I have a new story in mind, still Call Me By Your Name - RPF because I recently realized that I cannot quite capture Elio and Oliver as characters, and their dialogues look terribly off whenever I try.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’m back to frequent updates!!! Good to feel free, ngl.

Nicole watches her husband sort the linens in the hamper with a teasing smile. “ _You like this one the most._ ” She says, walking up to him and leaning against the wall. 

“ _I do,_ ” Marc answers with a smile. “ _I might even dare say that this one will be the hardest to beat._ ” 

Frowning, Nicole asks “ _You don’t think they’ll last?_ ” 

“ _Oh no, they’ll last. Well, I hope, and I will bear it with much regret if it crumbles. I can hardly think of reasons why they won’t be able to work past issues, with the way that Armand thinks. He’s very intelligent._ ” He explains with a disbelieving shake of his head. 

“ _And principled,_ ” Nicole points out. 

Marc rises to his feet and makes a suggestive face to his wife. “ _Timothée, on the other hand,_ ” he remarks, making them both chuckle. “ _I bet he’s exhausting Armand’s patience everyday. Sounds like someone I know,_ ” he looks at Nicole, teasing. 

“ _Do we have a problem?_ ” Nicole makes a show of putting her hands on her hips, questioning, but their laughter dismisses any real heat. “ _They flirt all the time too, my goodness! Poor Pauline._ ” 

“ _We were the same, no? When we were young,_ ” Marc wraps an arm around his wife and walks with her to the living room. 

“ _Different,_ ” Nicole insists, pinching his side. “ _They flirt with each other; I flirted at you. You’re much too reserved to be affectionate like that._ ” 

Marc huffs, dismissive. “ _Times were different then,_ ” 

“ _It wasn’t that long ago, Marc. Women can already vote._ ” 

“ _Armand would argue that that particular movement is relatively new._ ” 

Nicole sighs, knowing full well that her husband would be as good as adopting Armie by the end of their vacation. “ _Timothée said he’s a fan of sweets. We should make him something for tomorrow._ ” 

“ _Do you really think he’ll be up early to help you?_ ” Marc glanced at the general direction of the hallway leading to his son’s bedroom. 

“ _When you’re right, you’re right._ ” 

*******

Despite how bright things were looking for Timmy’s sex life in the duration of the night, Armie still looked like he’ll fall asleep on his feet, even while holding him up by the thighs against the wall and kissing his neck. Instead, they gradually slow down the pace, though the room is still considerably feeling a lot hotter than it should. Armie walks them both back on the sofa, the back of his legs hitting the edge and he tumbles down, sitting with Timmy straddling his lap. 

“Is it time?” Timmy asks with the little amount of brain cells left unfried in his head. He takes Armie face in his hands, looking down on him as he strokes the side of his cheeks and feels the roughness of his five o’clock shadow. 

Because he’s an absolute dickbag, Armie teased “What gave you the idea?” 

Timmy feels his own grimace all the way to his neck. “This guy,” he snaps, pushing his hips down against the bulge on Armie’s pants. 

“Ah him,” Armie’s face contorted when he felt the friction on his crotch, but still kept a straight face. “He’s hardheaded.”

“Abstinence isn’t going to cause me a permanent erectile dysfunction, your goddamn humor will.” Timmy makes a move to get off his lap, but Armie’s hands hold him down, taking him by the nape and kissing him again. 

“You think your supplies here are still good to go?” Armie whispers into his mouth, his other hand going up and down Timmy’s bare flank. 

Timmy grimaced. “I’ve never had sex here.” 

“You have nothing?” 

“None. Do you?” 

When Armie winced, Timmy already resigned himself to another night of blue balls. “Ah, raincheck?” Armie says. 

“Luca was right. I should’ve gotten you lube and condoms for your birthday instead.” Timmy collapses completely on Armie’s thighs, face falling on his shoulder and folding his legs uncomfortably. Neither of them dared to move though, feeling their groins perfectly lined up against each other. 

In a careful movement, Armie cups each of Timmy’s buttcheeks and lifts him off his lap. “We can still shower together.” Armie says, looking him in the eyes as he stood up supporting all of his weight in his arms. 

Timmy shrugs his open shirt and flings it across the room. 

*******

When Timmy rolls out of bed at five, he’s surprised to find his mother already up and looking through various cookbooks laid out on the counter. 

“ _Maman?_ ” He asks as he approaches, hugging her in the middle and dropping a kiss to her cheek. “ _Why are you up so early?_ ” 

“ _I just thought to make something for Armie since it’s his birthday. Are you already up? Come, help me then._ ” Nicole answers him while cupping his cheek. “ _Your father really liked him_.” 

Timmy blushed, rubbing his nape. “ _That’s good. I’m glad._ ” He reaches backwards for the spare apron. “ _I take you like him too?_ ” He gestures to the recipes opened on the countertop, but couldn’t help the nervous laugh that followed it. 

“ _Of course, darling. Your father and I even agree that it’s the best one yet. You two are incredible together._ ” Nicole assures him, flipping through the book. “ _Do you have plans for the day?_ ” 

“ _We didn’t get to talk about it last night - maman! Stop making that face!_ ” Timmy whines, his face going up in flames when his mother made a disbelieving and suspicious face at him. 

Nicole laughs at her son’s flustered state, putting a finger to her lips to hush him. “ _Alright, alright, no more teasing, but keep your voice down. The house is still asleep_ .” She ruffles his hair fondly. “ _Now, I know you at least have some ideas._ ” 

“ _Well, yeah. I was thinking of driving up to the river, maybe just some picnic since we still have pretty great weather._ ” Timmy watches her mother’s face light up and he releases a shaky breath in relief. “ _You think that might be nice?_ ”

“ _Darling, it’s wonderful. The meadow is beautiful too at this time of the year. It would be very memorable. Maybe pack some extra clothes though._ ” 

“ _Maman!_ ”

“ _For swimming!_ ”

*******

Armie stirs in his sleep when he feels like kisses peppering his face. He smiles instantly even without opening his eyes, already reaching out to Timmy blindly and wanting to sink back to sleep some more. He hears him chuckle, warming him instantly, and shakes him once more out of sleep. Stubbornly, Armie grumbles, searching the air so he can trap Timmy in an embrace. 

“Nuh-uh,” Timmy chides gently. “Breakfast time,” 

Armie tries to blink his eyes open, Timmy’s room thankfully dim that it doesn’t feel too harsh, but he still looks around blearily until his gaze focuses on Timmy, still in his night clothes and smiling down at him. “There you are,” he says, holding out his arms. 

“Happy birthday,” Timmy barely bends forward in a hug, making Armie whine. “I’m holding a cake!” He laughs, kissing his forehead. 

That got Armie’s attention, pushing himself on his elbows as he fully opened his eyes. “Oh,” he gasps, gleeful. “You didn’t have to. Did your parents-”

Timmy shakes his head at him, and Armie’s brain clears up just in time to realize that Timmy has some flour and dried icing not completely wiped off his clothes. “I made it this morning.”

Something in Armie cracks profoundly and a weight settles in his gut, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He never thought he’d have something like this; convinced that in exchange for his freedom to live as he liked he’s abandoning the chance of living so gratifyingly. It fills him with amazement and immeasurable happiness that he’s brimming with it, not knowing what to do with himself. 

“Armie?” Timmy’s face fell, worry taking over his previously joyful expression. 

Sniffling, Armie throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, blinking back the sudden tears that sting his eyes before they fall. “Sorry, I’m being a whole fucking mess about this.” He finally drops his head back to face Timmy and smiles. He scoots over the bed to sit closer together, cupping Timmy's jaw. “My God, but you are the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

Since he can’t really pull Timmy in an embrace without smashing the cake between them, Armie just arranges himself behind him, wrapping his arms around Timmy’s torso in a back-hug. He hooks his chin on his shoulder and sneaks a quick kiss on his neck. Timmy cranes his neck to him and they kiss again despite the awkward angle. 

“Because of the cake?” Timmy teases, flushed and smiling too widely, and stares up at Armie with adoring eyes. 

Shaking his head, Armie answers “You, always you. Surely, you’d know by now.” 

“What if I’d like to be reminded?” Timmy asks shyly. 

“I’ll tell you everyday.” _And more_ , Armie thought, though he didn’t dare to say it. Not yet. The words are in his throat, burning and true, but he fights them down by kissing the top of Timmy’s head. 

Timmy sinks into his arms with a satisfied sigh, arranging their faces beside one another so they’re tucked neatly. “It’s time I light the candles up. I think I’m forgetting whose birthday it really is.” 

Laughing, Armie loosens his grip on Timmy to allow him to reach for the lighter, setting the candle on fire. What no one tells us about because everyone hates to acknowledge it is the fact that our families make _and_ break us. It’s a safe haven and the hottest part of hell combined, and all the ways that it touched us stays with us forever. Because it’s where we are born into that it cuts deep wounds in our beings that never seem to close with time, only that they stop bleeding. Personally, Armie knows his parents and their marriage scarred him for life. They’re not fully to blame, but what their union depicted throughout his life made him want to reject the concept if only to spare himself a repeat of the biggest torment of the teenage Armie Hammer. 

As Timmy turns to him with a palm curved over the fire to keep it burning, Armie knows he cannot be wrong about this. What he was exposed to was wrong, but it wasn’t like that for everyone, even if it threateningly felt that way. He lived long enough in the comfortable lie that love is always painful, lest it loses its meaning. Loving is sacrificing, lest you’re not doing enough. It’s not. What it is is blinding brightness and overflowing joy, more than Armie knows what to do with, and it’s vibrant enough that everything else matters significantly less; the pain, the anxiety, the sadness. They all come tenfold, and Armie swears that he’ll fight to keep this until it’s no longer what Timmy wants. 

“Make a wish,” Timmy smartly quips, bringing the cake close to his face. 

_Us, always,_ Armie thinks, before pushing out air to blow out the candles. Having none of it, Armie takes the cake from Timmy’s hand and sets it down on the bedside table, finally pulling him into his lap and kissing him with all that he’s got. 

“We’ll be late for breakfast like this,” Timmy breathlessly said, his head thrown back completely while Armie kisses the stretch of his neck. 

“Then I’m just gonna be extremely apologetic after.” Armie answers resolutely, flipping them so Timmy is lying on the bed while Armie hovers. He takes the hem of Timmy’s sweater and pushes it up to reveal his skin and bends down to trail kisses on his stomach. 

Obviously the impatient one between the two, Timmy arches his back and slings the sweater off his body like it offends him. He stays on his elbows, watching him slowly follow the hair that leads to his crotch with his lips, and Armie makes sure to pause and look up, urging Timmy to consent. 

Breathing hard and already looking debauched with hair all over his face and shining lips, Timmy bounces his head in rapid nods. “Yeah, yes, Armie-” his words get stuck in his throat when Armie finally tugs his sweatpants down along with his boxers, his dick springing free. 

Armie opens his mouth and lets the tip of his tongue go over his lips a bit, closing his mouth around the head of Timmy’s cock, swirling his tongue experimentally on the underside before giving the tip a light suck. Timmy actually comes off the bed, his hand flying over to his mouth to stop himself from shouting, and Armie just relaxes his throat when Timmy’s hips convulse upwards. Teasingly, he puts his forearm across Timmy’s lower stomach, pinning him on the bed, and resumes working on the suction of his mouth as he takes his dick deeper and deeper, moving his tongue just enough to keep up the sensation, but not quite getting Timmy off either. 

“Armie, Armie, I - oh! fuck,” Timmy hasn’t finished a single sentence every time he attempts it between his muffled moans. “ _Fucking hell_ \- I mean, oh God!” 

The switch from French to English made Armie smile and he pulled his mouth off, licking a long strip underneath before completely releasing his cock. It’s sufficiently coated in his spit that when Armie wrapped it in his palm, he could pump the shaft rapidly. 

“You alright?” Armie asks, not bothering to hide just how proud he is of himself. 

Timmy opens his eyes to look down on him, his breath ripping out of his chest hot and heavy, his lips swollen and puffy from getting bitten hard. When their gazes meet, Armie doesn't give him a chance to come up with an answer, diving back down and taking the entire length of his dick down his throat. Timmy’s surprised shout wasn’t contained this time, the hand he used to cover his mouth is now threading its fingers through Armie’s hair. Curious, Armie pulls away from the base and makes sure to drag his tongue along the nerves, then gives another suck. Timmy’s hands gripped his hair tightly from the sensation, hissing and moaning above him. The pull on his hair added to his own pleasure, making him hum. 

“That’s so good - Armie, I’m gonna - ahh,” Timmy cuts himself off again, his hand releasing Armie’s hair to muffle his mouth as his dick disappears deeper in his mouth, thoroughly worked and escalating without mercy. 

If Armie thought that Timmy was an open book, apparently he had no idea, because now that he’s blowing him, every sensation was clear on his face, though right now they’re mostly variations of pleasure and occasional worried shock when he makes a sound that might be a little too loud. 

“Come on,” Armie encourages, finally removing his forearm on Timmy’s stomach. Timmy’s eyes were wide as they stared him down, and Armie isn’t sure if instructions will work for him at this point, so he just brings it back into his mouth, allowing Timmy’s natural reaction to thrust his cock into his mouth relentlessly. 

To add even more to it, Armie grips the base of his dick, pumping it when his lips are up to the head of the shaft and squeezing when it’s hitting the back of his throat. 

“Shit!” Timmy openly curses. “I’m close - oh my God - fuck!” 

Armie just keeps it all up until Timmy’s entire body tensed and he spilled in his mouth, breath stuttering as he completely fell on the bed, spent and boneless. 

“Hmm, happy birthday to me.” 

Timmy holds a finger up. “Wait, wait,” he’s tapping his chest, rising and falling rapidly with each breath. “Can’t talk.” 

Armie falls on the bed laughing. 

*******

The thing about sex is you love to say that it’s better to just get it over and done with, so you don’t wonder anymore. It’s a stinking lie if Timmy has ever heard one. It wasn’t that long ago when he lost his virginity at sixteen, and he recalls vividly that afterwards, it’s just all he wanted to do. Not a lot of things change in young adulthood, it turns out. When Armie finally got Timmy out of bed, they moved to the shower to get presentable for breakfast, which inevitably just led to Timmy returning the favor; getting on his knees on the tile floor while he swallows as much of Armie’s dick down his throat. Quite a task, if you ask him. The size is incredible. 

So yeah, doing it does not shake off the urge. If anything, Timmy is just glaring at Armie across the clearing, wondering why the hell they’re not blowing each other. Hell, they should be driving to get supplies by now. Timmy has to shift in his seat every time he thinks about finally going all the way, which was a lot, because it’s all his mind wants to say to him. 

“ _Are you constipated?_ ” Pauline asks with genuine concern, even putting her palm on his forehead to check his temperature. “ _Maman told you not to eat cake first thing in the morning. Go have some tea_.”

Timmy can just nod his head very hard, too jumpy and on edge. He gives his sister a tense smile and walks to the cupboards, pondering if he really should brew some tea or just pretend to. 

Breakfast just ended, the tables already cleared and the dishes already done. His parents didn’t even allow them to help this time, telling them to take some more time to rest. Despite Timmy’s sexual frustration, their breakfast was actually a very wholesome affair. Timmy only took care of the cake and a bunch of other desserts when he woke up, while his mother prepared their actual meal. Despite their family being predominantly based in France, they do get American breakfast rather often, courtesy of his mom who’s a New Yorker, born and raised. Armie was boundlessly delighted when he saw the breakfast table, which launched an entertaining conversation between him and Nicole as they talk about New York and the sleazy diners that they love. Pauline, bless her soul, minored in film and photography in college, which she uses for better or for worse. She takes out her camera at some point and starts to capture candid moments of the meal. When she’s feeling kinder, she would call out names and at least count, but all in good spirits. 

“You’re _constipated?_ ” Timmy’s breath automatically stutters in his chest when he hears Armie come up to him, asking with blatant mischief. 

“And where did you get that pretty image?” Timmy knows he probably talked to Pauline before finding him in the kitchen, but he still thought to question, feeling like he should act irritated because doing otherwise means pulling Armie in a storage closet. 

Armie is already openly amused, his arm stretched out to wrap around his waist as the distance between them disappears. “I asked your sister where you went,” he answers with a shrug, nonchalant. He puts his chin on his shoulder. “So? Are you?”

“No, what I am is stupidly turned on and then my family’s faces would pop in like _wham!_ ”

Armie actually collapsed on the counter in laughter. 

*******

They decided to skip out on lunch with his family in favor of strolling around the neighborhood. Timmy’s father didn’t even miss a beat when he offered his car, clapping Armie on the shoulder and telling them to be careful. His mom passed him the picnic basket that she put together earlier when he asked in passing in the middle of their cooking at dawn. Surprisingly, Armie asks if he can drive them, for the breathtakingly adorable reason that he wants to be familiar with every street bends and remember them _when_ they return. Timmy is powerless to refuse that kind of thinking, so he passes on the car keys and climbs on shotgun. What he failed to consider was the fact that Armie had a driver, and he shouldn’t have been too trusting. Alas, it was too late, and they’re on their third swerve barely a kilometer away from their house. 

“Armand, it’s literally right there! How could you not see?” Timmy exclaims, his hand gesturing to the street sign that Armie saw last minute. 

“I saw it! I stopped the car, didn’t I?” Armie snaps back. 

“Why the hell do you drive like a motherfucker?” Timmy questions heatedly, his hands gripping the seatbelt and the back of his seat nervously. There was a bump in the road that Armie didn’t even bother slowing down for, making the car jump. Timmy yelps. “Oh my God! We’re literally the only car out! Who told you you can get on the road with this driving?!”

Armie just sighs, resigned. “Story time,” he quips. “I’m city grown, as you know, and I learned to drive in L.A and New York…”

Timmy slowly slides down on his seat, horrified with what he’s hearing as Armie continues with his story. 

They luckily made it to the old family restaurant that served the classics that Timmy’s family loves. That’s not saying that he isn’t white as sheet when they arrived, and Armie at least looked a bit bashful about his driving. He tugged him in an embrace when they finally pulled over and got out of the car, but he had the audacity to laugh about it. Timmy was too shell-shocked by the outrageous driving that he can’t even find the humor in it. 

“I swear to God Armie, if you don’t fix your goddamn driving you might as well take us to jail.” Timmy cusses as they enter. 

Armie snorts beside him, dismissive. “We’re not going to get arrested, relax.” 

Timmy whips around to glare at him. “Who the fuck says that?”

“Someone who has bail money.” Armie retorts offhandedly, attention already directed elsewhere. “Hello!” 

Timmy gapes at him incredulously as Armie simply turns to the receptionist, Bernadette, and charms her completely by simply greeting her and sprinkling bits of clever compliments. Bernadette shoots him a knowing glance, her eyes teasing a bit, but he’s too dumbfounded by everything that Armie has been doing up to that moment that he can’t formulate a response. She tells Armie that they arrived just in time for their usual table to be cleared in ten minutes if they can spare some time to wait. 

“What’s the occasion?” Bernadette asks from behind the reception desk, speaking in English in consideration of their company. 

“ _Birthday_ ,” Timmy says sourly in French. 

“ _Oh that’s so lovely!_ Happy birthday!” She greets Armie immediately, smiling as she adds “Desserts are on the house, pick what you like.” 

Armie didn’t even bother hiding his joy at the offer. “Oh my, well thank you so much!” He replies with a grin. “You’re much kinder to me on my birthday than my boyfriend will ever be.” 

“I greeted you with a cake I _made_.” 

“Yeah, but who did all the work after?”

Timmy shuts his eyes and rubs his temples, his blush rapidly spreading on his face. “Armand, for once in your life, shut the hell up.” 

Some time after they got the table, Timmy starts bursting in ridiculous, uncontrolled laughter. They just finished looking at the menu, and despite his frequent claims, Armie can actually order well for himself in any restaurant simply because he grew up into that life. What got to him was the stark difference between the time when the first talked about going into a French restaurant during their first date, and now that they’re finally here. They’ve argued and bickered continuously yet kissed and touched each other in equal amounts, and it’s just so _absurd_ that he cannot fight the hysterical fit that rips through his chest and shakes his torso. 

“What’s so funny?” Armie asks him, already smiling across the table. 

Timmy waves him off, calming himself. “Sorry, it’s not you. It’s just-” he shakes his head, wiping the corners of his eyes. “We’ve come a long way, yeah? From the time we first talked about going to a French place.” 

The recognition on Armie’s face is instantaneous as his expression softens, eyes glazing over as his stare shifts into open affection, his hand reaching across to thread their fingers together. “You sure that’s not just the adrenaline wearing off after I drove?” He brings Timmy’s knuckles to his mouth and kisses it, maintaining eye contact. 

“Well, yeah, that too,” Timmy confirms, but his brain is already in white noise as he follows Armie’s gesture. 

Their lunch was by far one of the most overwhelming dates they’ve ever been, and Timmy feels breathless about it. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what makes it so, but he’ll put his bet on the fact that it’s because they’re in _his_ hometown, in a place where _his_ family frequents, on _Armie’s_ birthday. It speaks volumes of commitment that they’ve never dared to verbalize yet, but it’s there nonetheless. Armie is imprinting himself in his life so deeply that Timmy knows it won’t be very long until he looks around and it’s all he sees. 

More than anything, he’s looking forward to that day. 

Armie didn’t even give Timmy the chance to get the bill. He’s already sweet talking Bernadette when she arrived on their table with their tab, and it was obvious how easily she was taken by his charisma that she just handed it over. She asked Timmy if they want a photo taken on their table, to which Armie responded eagerly. Their table is right next to the massive window that opens to a view of the mountain range, and the sun was warm enough that day so it translated perfectly into their picture. Armie’s smile upon seeing it was astonishing, and because taking his breath wasn’t enough, he even started flirting and complimenting him randomly. Timmy was in a daze for a bit when Armie finally settled their tab. It took Armie giving it back with a hefty amount of tip that Bernadette looked over to Timmy, belatedly realizing that she was supposed to let him take care of it, but honestly Timmy couldn’t even blame her. She turned to leave them shortly after but made sure to get his attention behind Armie’s back, making kissy faces and finger hearts. 

“Where to now?” Armie tosses the keys in the air absently as they walk out. 

Wary, Timmy tries to measure the timing of each throw so he can snatch it. “Bakery,” he answers and points to the boulangerie next door, then lunges forward. 

“Ah, ah,” Armie chides playfully, holding his hand. “It’ll be better this time - don’t give me that face, Timothée - I promise!” 

Timmy huffs, stomping his feet on the ground. “That better not be my last meal. I always imagined it’s going to be fancy seafood.” 

Armie gawks at him dumbfoundedly, but Timmy just stalks straight into the bakeshop, not sparing him an explanation. 

They got enough bread for the entire family that would last at least three days, which they loaded up on the backseat with the picnic basket. Despite the incessant amount of squabble exchanged between them, Timmy still wouldn’t count it against their day going smoothly. Of course it would’ve been nice if they can just agree on the type of bread to take, or if they should add some sweets, or who should drive, but none of these ever threw their mood off. It’s actually better, in a way. Timmy enjoys how comfortable their interactions are; how easily they can say whatever they want around each other and debate about it without batting an eye. And if Timmy ruled the world, he would keep their day as immaculate as possible, without a single thing tarnishing Armie’s pretty smiles and loud laughters. As it happens, Timmy totally didn’t rule the world, no matter how much rage he can project to make it look like it. Sometimes, he doesn’t even rule his own life, which is why Armie’s phone rings while mounted on the dashboard, his father’s voice cutting through the line. 

The moment Armie hears who the caller was, his face tensed grimly, his hands clenching tightly on the steering wheel. “Dad,” he prompts, jaw setting harshly. 

“Your mother says you should free your schedule, have dinner with us.” Michael said through the line, his voice unflinching and commanding. “Do you have a place in mind?” 

“I’m in France.” Armie answers curtly. 

Michael waits a beat before answering, heightening Timmy’s panic. “Ah, that’s a pity.” He responds, with no effort to match the regret in his words. “I sent a birthday gift to your office. Call us when you’re back; your mother will insist on it.” 

Armie stays silent even after the call disconnects; their navigator flashing on the screen again. Timmy’s brain is on overdrive the whole time; dissecting every bit of the terribly brief conversation and Armie’s apparent bitterness. There wasn’t a hint of fondness in their exchange. Michael had no consideration for Armie as he authoritatively phrased each sentence, while Armie maintained his dismissive response. It’s also very telling how the gift was sent to the office instead, where people could see the act and talk about it. They’re opening an invitation for dinner and didn’t opt to give it there. That alone is so imbued with power assertion that Timmy felt sick about it. Armie still keeps his eyes on the road, and it was the most excruciating ten minutes of their entire relationship. Finally, he sighs, the creases on his face clearing as he visibly forces himself to relax. 

“There goes my dad,” Armie says each word clearly, like an affirmation he has to repeat to calm himself, except that the fact itself appears to infuriate him. “Which is probably a good enough heads up for when you meet him.” 

Tentatively, Timmy reached out. “Can I touch you?” Instead of answering, Armie drops his hand and turns the palm upwards, and Timmy takes it to thread their fingers together. “Tell me what I can do.” He offers sternly. 

“No, no, Timmy. Timmy, listen,” Armie repeats his name forcibly, taking a moment to glance at him so he can fix him with a stare then turns back to the road. “It’s not for you to solve. My family,” he sighs with a shake of his head. “The only one who truly qualifies to that would be Viktor. My parents on the other hand; I don’t think either of us ever really had the courage to ask when their marriage failed, or if it was a real one to begin with. But you can already tell that it’s in no way similar to yours. Your parents adore each other, and if I can help it, I wouldn’t want to put you in the same room as mine.” 

“You can’t protect me from everything.” Timmy reminds him gently, trying his best to pick the words with consideration to Armie but still wanting to express his opposition to it. 

“But I can try.” Armie insists, his tone almost rising but he catches himself. He takes a steadying breath and squeezed his hand. “Especially with this. I _should_ at least try, for your sake. I don’t even know where to begin listing all the issues I had because of them.” 

Timmy sighs, knowing he really isn’t in the position to tell Armie how to handle his own family. “Alright.” 

Strangely, that made the corners of Armie’s lips twitch in a smile. “Alright?” He repeats, amused. 

Timmy shrugs, feeling his own lips curl up. “It’s not going to change anything to mull over it longer. Besides, we’re almost there.” He ducks to gauge the distance. “Ah, perfect. There’s no one around.” He shoots Armie a meaningful look. 

“You’re exhibitionist?” Armie gasps, face contorted with shock. 

Timmy guffaws, forehead resting on the dashboard and shaking with laughter. “No, but your _face!_ ” 

*******

Armie wonders if he’ll ever stop being so taken by everything Timmy brings into his life. The river flows steadily in the middle of the open clearing, the meadow still bright and alive even in the very tail end of summer. There are robust trees generously spaced between one another, creating a natural canopy over them as they lay out the blanket. The vice in his chest still grips his heart tightly, and he relishes in the feeling, the tenderness of the moment burning itself in his mind. 

“What?” Timmy asks, catching him staring uselessly. 

Armie can only shake his head, reaching for Timmy’s wrist so he can put an arm around his shoulder and pull him to his chest into a kiss. He smiles into it when he feels Timmy’s body slide down, like his brain’s knee-jerk reaction is to suspend his control over his legs every time they kiss. It was absolutely endearing. 

“Thank you,” Armie says, watching Timmy’s eyes flutter as he slowly regains his brain function. “All good?” He teases when Timmy’s eyes finally opened fully, his blush darkening. 

Wrapping his arms around his neck, Timmy pressed them flush against each other, standing on his tiptoes to hug Armie tightly. “Could be better,” he whispers to the crook of his neck then kisses it, then pulls his head up so they can look at each other. “Wanna swim?” 

Timmy’s eyes are already dilated, his crotch pressed shamelessly on Armie’s stomach and he can feel him half-hard. Feeling his own lust rising, Armie moves his hands torturously slow on the expanse of Timmy’s skin, pushing his clothes out of the way and watching his head fall back. Breathing hard, Timmy starts flailing his limbs, trying to find purchase, to which Armie responds by hiking him up his hips, legs crossing on his back. They undressed heatedly like that, Armie walking them to a nearby tree so he could push Timmy against the bark. 

Impatient, Timmy tugs at Armie’s shirt, frowning hard. “Get this off,” he growls, dexterous pianist fingers working his buttons open. 

Armie paused only to push it down his shoulders and tossed it to their blanket. He puts a space between Timmy and the trunk as he pulls his shirt off, then holds him there, not wanting the harsh surface to irritate his skin. Timmy hops off of him, making him groan in disapproval, but he just giggles and kisses him, hand moving to undo his pants and push them down. When his own senses return, Armie does the same to Timmy’s pants, and they fall back on the ground, cushioned by the blanket, dressed only in their boxers and making out heatedly. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe I get to have you like this.” Armie breathes in deeply on Timmy’s chest, his bottom lip catching on the skin as he drags his head up to bring their mouths back together.

Timmy is straddling him, his hands on the back of his head in a cradle. “Believe it,” he tugs Armie’s hair so his neck would arch, then bites on the skin. 

Armie is nearly out of his mind with arousal, his dick tenting his boxers and Timmy is clearly no better. Grasping his hips, he brings their groins together and grinds hard, making Timmy howl from the friction. Armie surges up from the ground, scraping his fingernails across Timmy’s back and kissing his neck, then finally his lips. Still, they’re out in the open - which, if guaranteed with no interruption, Armie wouldn’t even mind - and it’ll be very difficult to explain their position on a meadow like this. The fact that either of them always seem to need to keep a brain cell working in the heat of the moment is really starting to get on his skin, but he’ll live with it. 

“Let’s take this to the water,” Armie tells him, though Timmy is still unfocused and kissing his neck while he grinds down. Armie threads his fingers through Timmy’s hair and tugs hard. 

“Fuck,” Timmy drags the word out with a sensual roll of his hips, and Armie thinks it’s dangerous how easily he’s slipping back to the haze. 

“Water baby,” he clenched his hands tighter among the curls until Timmy slowly nodded, his eyes shut tight and jaw slack.

Timmy gingerly gets on his feet, his legs wobbling slightly. Despite himself, Armie still chuckles fondly, following Timmy as their hands clasp each other towards the water. 

It’s cold, and they simultaneously hissed when their feet submerged into the river. It’s a different kind of visual experience to watch Timmy slowly sink himself deeper and deeper into the water, while Armie feels it himself as the level slowly comes up to his chest. 

Once they’re sufficiently plunged, they come together again, this time slower and less frantic, but for some reason even more intense. The water made it hard to achieve friction on the crotch, but Armie would be damned if he let that stop him. Slipping his hands inside Timmy’s boxers, he cupped the cheeks of his ass and fondled them, making him chuckle into their kiss. 

“Hmm, not fair,” Timmy complains playfully, his hand tracing a line from Armie’s chest to the bulge of his boxers, making him shudder, then finally takes his dick into his hand, stroking deftly. 

Even with the lack of lubrication, Armie still feels his knees buckle a little at that. In hindsight, getting off so publicly isn’t really how he would like to celebrate his birthday, but now that they’re here, he swears he will tear down a tree if they’re cockblocked. Shutting down your reason isn’t too hard when you’re in the middle of a handjob from the man you’re obsessed with, so Armie decides to multitask by putting one hand to Timmy’s dick to return the favor, the other rubbing at his hole. No way will he breach it underwater, knowing very well that it would hurt, but Timmy gasps loudly nonetheless. His calculated strokes stuttered and his head fell on Armie’s shoulder, panting hard and moaning. 

“Oh, oh, Armie,” he moans openly, pushing against both of Armie’s hands. “I’m close - fuck, fuck - I’m-”

Armie nuzzles Timmy’s face until he moves and they kiss, tongues going in each other’s mouths. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says. 

He worked to get Timmy off like that, and he can tell it’s nearly a sensory overload, yet he still continues to pump at the length of Armie’s dick. Their combined sensations were so charged that Armie swears his brain shuts down as he watches Timmy’s face as he comes, his own release following shortly after. 

“Oh my - ah, shit - oh God,” Timmy grouses, his hands clawing at Armie as his legs shake from the high. “Get us on land - shit, shit! - God, I’m going to fucking drown at this rate.” 

Armie couldn’t stop his laughter if he tried, but he kept it under control. His own knees are feeling weak, and it doesn’t help that Timmy is just clinging on to him. “Why did we come up with this shit?” 

Snorting, Timmy says “I know right? I won’t be able to swim here with my family ever again.” 

“Aw yes baby, talk dirty to me.” Armie deadpans, yanking at Timmy when they’re finally on land as payback for the messed up mental image. “So much for not being an exhibitionist.” 

“You lost your right to say that when you rubbed my asshole.”

“That’s where you draw the line?” 

“I don’t know. Want me to suck your dick?” Timmy challenged. 

Armie gapes, and out of all the things that flashed it in his mind, none of them was an objection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I guess if you make Armie happy he’ll suck your dick, and ain’t that just a lovely headcanon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ja, finally we’re here. I cannot believe how chatty I get describing sex between these goons.

Timmy loves his family more than anything in the world. They’re his pride and joy, his parents continuing to inspire him with fighting the good fight, his sister carving a place for herself in French film industry. He knows, deep down, that he would do anything for them with very little to no questions asked. With that being said, it wouldn’t really take a lot to convince him to put together a party for his dear sister, and he complied with all of his heart pouring into the work; running errands, testing the food, designing the place. Armie even helps with everything, impressing his entire family once more with how efficiently he moves in a workspace. The way he organizes is spot on, their days passing so smoothly because he maps them out diligently. Added to his natural skill, Armie is also very resourceful and smart. He mentioned once that he spent weeks of vacation in the Cayman Islands, their property very much isolated. 

All the skills he picked up living off the grid really come in handy as he built random things out of the spare woods from the backyard, just in line with Pauline’s general Mediterranean aesthetic. Suddenly, they have a polished cupcake holder from a spare branch, a wooden wall hanger that Timmy wrapped drapes around so it adds a beautiful accent on the wall, wooden signs for the yard, some coasters and now multiple standing racks for outdoor candles. His parents openly adored Armie and Timmy together, his mother particularly cooing at how well they fit as Armie built things endlessly while Timmy puts artistic touches to it. Even Pauline was overjoyed with everything, which is exactly what Timmy wants for his sister, squealing every single time Armie manages to materialize her woodwork visions. 

Except that, of course, Timmy and Armie couldn’t have sex, and not for the lack of trying. In fact, their mornings would always seem to start with them pawing at each other, humping on the bed, sucking in the bathroom, but never managing to go all the way. The house would be buzzing with life starting from early morning, sometimes visitors for his parents, others are friends of Pauline. Often, it’s also the hired organizer and her team coming and going, testing the lights, the sounds, measuring the space. With all the noises of strangers moving in the house on top of Timmy’s family, Timmy and Armie always mutually agree right in the moment to get off as fast as they can before it starts to feel too weird. By the end of the day, they’re both too exhausted to even pull at their muscles, usually knocked out of their minds once they hit the bed after a shower. 

When the day finally comes, Timmy could be persuaded to say that it had been worth all the missed dick appointments. It was gorgeous and wholesome and  _ warm,  _ all the details that they collectively put together complementing beautifully. Living in a small town means knowing the majority of the neighborhood, and from what it looks like, his parents definitely did not shy away from inviting the whole lot. A bunch of their paternal relatives are there too, and a few from their mother’s side since they had to come from New York. Armie effortlessly flits through the crowd, charismatic and brilliant as always. He was a new face that everyone wanted to take the time to get to know, especially since he’s a little hard to miss when he towers over everyone. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Timmy snakes a hand around his waist, planting his feet between Armie and a pretty blonde that he would’ve appreciated if only she stayed in her damn lane. 

Sensing his jealousy, Armie’s eyes shine cheekily and he smiles, gesturing to his company. “Yes, lovely party.” He says while holding Timmy’s gaze, still smiling, which deflates him a bit. Chuckling, he adds “Timmy, meet Celine. Celine, this is my boyfriend, Timothée.” 

“Hi Celine, drinks are free flowing. Help yourself,” he tells her as hospitably as he can to a woman blatantly trying to pick up his man even though Armie keeps on dodging her advances. 

Celine stares at them, shell-shocked and embarrassed, and Timmy just turns to Armie and grins childishly. Laughing, Armie gives a polite nod to Celine and wraps his arm around Timmy, dropping a kiss to his head as they walk. 

“Poor girl, getting scolded like that by the host’s son.” Armie feigns sympathy with a shake of his head. 

“True,” Timmy agrees, grabbing a plate of pastries for them to snack on and nods towards the gazebo, urging Armie to move along. “I’m sure she can still find someone in this massive crowd.” 

Armie leans his hips against the railing when he walksin, motioning Timmy to step in his embrace so they can stand back to chest with his arms around his waist. Timmy sighs as he sinks into Armie’s chest, tilting his head for a kiss. “Hmm, that tasted familiar,” Armie quips, his smile pressed against Timmy’s mouth. “Was that the same flavor as my cake?” 

“Yup,” Timmy confirms, offering the plate up so Armie can have some. Instead, he picks up a tart. “Hey, I was saving that!” 

“Not keen on sharing tonight, huh?” Armie teased, dropping a kiss to his cheek. 

“Oh I’d never share you,” Timmy huffs, scanning the crowd from their gazebo then looks up at Armie under his lashes. 

Armie looks visibly torn between his head and his dick. “Ditto,” he answers weakly, turning them both around so his back is on the crowd, effectively hiding Timmy with his body. 

Not willing to let the chance pass, Timmy opens his mouth, looks at that tart meaningfully. “How about that one?” 

“You can have it,” Armie answers cheerfully, clearly lacking foresight as he puts the last bite of the tart in Timmy’s mouth. 

Catching the pad of the thumb with his thumb, Timmy sticks the tart to the side of his mouth and sucks lightly at Armie’s finger, looking up at him obscenely. Armie’s breath hitches, the blue in his eyes blending with the night as his pupils dilate completely. Getting the reaction he wants, Timmy releases Armie’s thumb and chews his pastry, smug. 

“You know, I’ve got an idea.” Timmy says, putting his weight against the railing of the gazebo, standing side by side. 

Armie blinks out of his daze, shaking his head lightly and clearing his throat. “Please don’t say semi-public sex; we’re doing it all backwards.”

Timmy hits him on the arm, laughing. “No, asshole. I was going to ask if you’d like to spend the rest of the time in Paris.” 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you wanting to have your way with me?” Armie nudges their touching shoulders together, teasing.

“It has everything to do with me wanting to have my way with you.” Timmy admits shamelessly, bobbing his head with a resolute nod. 

Armie throws his head back in laughter. “Jesus, your family will think I’m whisking you away. Do they know you’re the one trying to get into my pants?”

“Oh, poor you.” Timmy coos cheekily. “I’m their youngest, of course they worry about my virtue.” What happens with his sex life is his business, and his parents only cared that he’s safe, so it’s an obvious bluff that even Armie can call out. 

Still, Armie whines “What? What about mine? You’re the one who wanted to try an outdoor blowjob!”

“Every answer you gave didn’t translate to a ‘no.’ Anyway, moot point, the best outdoor blowjob of your life didn’t happen.” Timmy waves at him, dismissive. “So, what do you say?”

Armie is looking at him with incredible disbelief. He laughs into his hand, then says “Sounds good.” 

“I can arrange for us to leave tomorrow night. It’s a studio apartment though-”

“Ah, perfect - ow!”

Timmy is laughing with him now, finding the talk ridiculous. “Contrary to your favorite opinion, I actually do have business to attend to in Paris. It’s just one meeting anyway, for like four hours tops; a client.” 

“My ego feels massively damaged. I can’t believe all this talk isn’t about you taking me to Paris to hit the sack.” Armie pouts, feigning annoyance. 

“That’s right. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

*******

It turns out, Timmy does in fact, have a business to attend to in Paris. They were having brunch on the patio, enjoying the warm sunlight and cool breeze, when Marc brought up the topic, since he’s frankly the only one who seemed to survive the party just fine. Even the dogs seemed to be distressed by the occasion, sleeping lazily on the grass and not paying them any attention despite the amount of food. Pauline is clutching her head and even Nicole is a bit bleary-eyed on the table. Armie and Timmy didn’t have that much drink, which meant they helped to take care of those who did. 

Glancing around the table with amusement, Marc says “Timothée, are you still meeting with the Contois family?” 

“Yeah, still on - oh, hey, easy,” Timmy cuts himself off in favor of catching the pitcher before it slips out of Pauline’s grip. 

“ _ Ugh, that’s heavy, _ ” she whines silently. 

“ _ Yeah, I know, let me, _ ” Armie watches Timmy take the pitcher from his sister, pouring her some water. “ _ It’s a weird deal, but very generous. _ ” He seems to catch himself switching completely in French, pausing. “Uhm, so I was saying, weird, they want to make a bust of each family member. I didn’t know people are still into that.” 

Marc chuckles, shaking his head. “I expected you would be the last person to say that.” 

“I mean, of course far from the weirdest I’ve ever done - a bust is actually a very tame request - but you know what I mean. I thought that narcissism fell with the monarchies.” Timmy chats mindlessly, his attention more focused on stopping his sister from collapsing the breakfast table. 

“Narcissism just takes a different form.” Armie chimes in, earning himself an approving nod from Marc as he sips his coffee. 

“My, I’m sorry about this state, Armie,” Nicole finally speaks, stroking her neck. “It’s an old neighborhood, you see. The rare times a party is thrown-” she pauses, exchanging looks with her husband and laughing. “On top of my cousins!” 

“No, please, don’t think about it.” Armie responds, recalling the first time Timmy met Viktor, laughing. “It was an amazing party, no wonder.” 

“You’re much too pleasant.” Nicole tells him with a grateful smile. “Timothée, I hope you left the apartment in a habitable state the last time you were there.” 

With the way Timmy winced, Armie knows better to expect it as such. “Well, there you go,” he remarks teasingly. 

Timmy actually looks a bit worried, chewing at his lips and hiding his face. “I might have to uh,” he licks his lips, searching for the word. “Declutter,” 

A hundred different things cross Armie’s mind. “Can I guess?” He leans in with a cheeky grin. “I’d bet you didn’t leave a mess, just some personal mementos.” 

Timmy turns his body to him, not breathing yet doubtful that he’ll get it. “All apartments are like that.” He remarks, his eyes narrowing in warning. 

“Sure, but not all knick knacks get us to blush like that. So,” Armie is grinning widely now, egging him on. “Extremely private, I’m assuming. Probably belonged to an ex that you kept even after the break up.”

Marc breaks out in laughter at the end of the table, staring at his son. He seems to have come up with an answer based on his knowledge of Timmy’s dating life. “I think you’re right, Armie.” He bends slightly to whisper to Nicole, and they chuckle under their breaths. 

Timmy is just gawking at them, irked about the speculation and even more aggravated that he cannot dispute it. “ _ Papa, you shouldn’t be taking his side. What is this? _ ” He demands in French, clearly wanting to momentarily exclude Armie in the conversation. 

“ _ I’m not taking his side! Is he wrong though? _ ” Marc prompts, hand stretched out to indicate Armie. 

“So when am I seeing this lovely Parisian apartment?” Armie asks excitedly when Timmy follows his dad’s hand, their eyes meeting. 

“Armand, I swear to God, you make me want to have you deported.” 

Their breakfast went on just like that. It was so easy to live with Timmy’s family; they’re familiar in a way that Armie doesn’t feel with his own parents. Later that day, he realized it wasn’t that; it was because he’s finally around parental figures that doesn’t make him walk on burning cinders at every step he makes. While they were packing their bags, Armie had an unexpected burst of sadness over the thought that he’s leaving Timmy’s caring and generous family and closer to returning his own. There’s no way he can escape dinner with them; it’s sort of a yearly bloody tradition in their household. Coming together for anyone’s birthday had been so dreaded that Viktor once hospitalized himself to avoid it. It also comes with a sudden rise of panic, knowing that he’s bound to introduce Timmy to his parents eventually, and not being able to make him feel the hospitality that Marc and Nicole extended to Armie. There’s already bile in his throat just thinking about it, making his mouth taste sour. 

“Armie?” Armie jumped when Timmy’s hand touched his shoulder, pausing to wait for his nod before moving his hand to his cheek. “What’s the matter?” He asks worriedly. 

Armie has never felt compelled to lie to Timmy, and he’s not about to start now. “I’m just worried about my parents,” he nuzzles Timmy’s palm, kissing the heel of his hand. “Actually, more about you meeting them.” 

“It doesn’t have to happen until you’re ready.” Timmy assures him, moving up to plant a kiss to his forehead. Both of his hands are cupping his cheeks now, and he moves down to kiss his nose before adding “I didn’t bring you here to pressure you into anything.” 

“I know that. But I want - it’s not…” Armie trails off, his words failing him and he sighs, exasperated. “I wish I can give this to you, too.” 

Timmy shakes his head at him. “You’re giving me more than enough, more than I thought I could have.” He kissed him, close-lipped and chaste. “You make me so, so happy, you don’t even know.” 

Armie surged to kiss Timmy, hoping that it could at least tell him that he feels the same, how grateful he is, how apologetic. They way Timmy cradles his face and strokes his jaw was so painfully gentle that Armie knows it would’ve ripped out a sob out of him if only he had tears left to spare his parents. Instead, he takes Timmy into his lap, moves to kiss the side of his face, his neck, worshipping the expanse of his torso. Pushing Timmy on the plush carpet, he lifts the hips straddling him and moves it down. Timmy reaches out to his hair, pushing the strands out of his eyes and caressing the top of his head. It made him sigh, sinking into the soft scratching from Timmy’s fingers as he worked his fly open, taking his growing cock and pumping at the shaft. Timmy hisses, biting at his lips, and Armie doesn’t delay it further and wraps his lips around the head. He uses his tongue to play on the nerves on the underside of Timmy’s dick, sucking deftly as he goes. 

“Fuck, Armie,” Timmy gasped softly, still muffling his moans by chewing at his bottom lip. “Touch yourself,” he commands sternly. 

Armie had no problem complying to that, but figures he could use some help. He opens his pants at the same time he offers Timmy his fingers. Timmy groans loudly, his dick twitching with how much he liked the notion, before taking the fingers into his mouth and coating them generously. Armie follows the way Timmy sucks, which he catches on quickly and starts to hollow his cheeks. The moan that rises in his chest sends vibrations up Timmy’s dick and his head falls back, releasing Armie’s fingers. He takes the opportunity to put the slick digits around his own aching cock, working his hand and mouth simultaneously to get them off. 

It didn’t take long for Timmy’s breathing to turn even more shallow, his breaths coming in short intervals. Armie watches his stomach tense and listens to the way he puffs out air. Wrapping his other hand on Timmy’s dick, he starts to pump at the base while he sucks, almost a sure-fire way now to get him off. Shortly after, Timmy is rising from his carpet, pushing at Armie’s shoulder, but he wouldn’t budge, and instead works his mouth even more on his cock until he comes; the release ripping at his body that he shudders and falls again on his back. 

“Come on me,” Timmy pants out, his hand in the air as he motions Armie forward. “Here, I want it.” He adds, craning his neck and opening his mouth. 

Powerless to resist him, Armie straddles his chest, jerking his dick as he points it to his face. The breath catches in his throat and sputters out when Timmy wraps his own hand alongside Armie’s and getting him off. Clutching at his pelvis with his free hand, Timmy rises to take the tip of his dick into his mouth sucking. Armie almost shouts in surprise, his own release hitting him violently. He watches the stream of his come fall on the sides of Timmy’s mouth, his tongue darting out to catch it before taking the head back, his dick oversensitive from coming that Armie had to arch away, collapsing on the space beside him. 

Blindly, Armie tries to get the napkins in one of the drawers, succeeding only on his fourth try. He takes a few sheets and pulls Timmy’s face to his chest, wiping. He closed his eyes at the aftercare, tilting his head up for a kiss. Armie tossed the napkins to the general direction of the bin and wrapped Timmy in an embrace, putting their mouths together. They made out on the carpet like that until their skin began to feel irritated by the material, making them both chuckle between kisses. Armie pulls them both on their feet, reluctant to stop kissing but assured that they will continue in the shower. If only they weren’t on a schedule, Armie is almost certain that they’ll have a go again. 

As it happens, they are scheduled to take off to Paris in a bit, and surely Timmy’s family would be waiting by now so they can drive them there. He feels Timmy’s eyes on him as he buttons his shirt, and he turns to face him as he rolls his sleeves, questioning. 

“We can’t go again. We’ll be late.” Armie says teasingly. 

Timmy scowls at him but laughs anyway. “No, asshole. It’s just that we both just  _ showered _ .” He shakes his head, embarrassed at the implication it’ll bring when they finally step out to meet his family. 

Armie can only scrunch his face, feeling the same but also helpless with the situation. He’d rather a walk of shame than reek of sex around Timmy’s wonderful family. “We’ll live.”

Timmy fully bursts out laughing now, his face buried in his hands. 

*******

Parting with his family has always been hard, especially when Timmy doesn't often get to be with them because of their respective jobs and schedules. Pauline swears she’s about to cry because she’s so hungover but still wants to cling to her brother some more, making their parents laugh and stroke her hair. They say goodbye when it’s the second call for them to board, Armie getting pulled into hugs by the rest of his family, making him swear to visit some more or meet them whenever in the same town. Timmy can tell it wasn’t just his natural courteousness that prompted his answer; Armie really adores his family, genuinely wanting to see them again in the future. Timmy couldn’t be happier about this trip. 

Once they hit their seats, both of them stubbornly insisted that they’re not so tired, until the speaker cuts through the air announcing their arrival and the two of them startled on their seats. The entire drive to Timmy’s apartment from there was filled with his stories about Paris; boarding school, his extracurricular, his shows. He lived an incredible life in the city, one of the most important parts of his growth, and he tells all of these to Armie, who just listens as he plays with the hair around his face. The boulangerie in his building that he liked was still open when they arrived, and he made sure to pick up a couple of bread and spreads before going up to his unit. 

“So uh,” Timmy turns suddenly, Armie almost slamming into him when he stopped. He looked down, confused, but waited for him to continue. “Well, you were right, uh, this morning.” 

Armie makes a confused face. “About?”

Timmy clears his throat, feeling childish. “I haven’t really been here for long periods of time in a while, so I never get the chance to clean up.” He chews on his bottom lip, blushing. “So I still do have a lot of my ex’s stuff here?” 

“Oh that,” Armie says, but he just looked amused. “Of course that’s not a problem, silly. Does it bother you?” 

“Why are you asking me that? It should bother  _ you _ .” Timmy says, surprised. 

Armie looked genuinely worried for a second. “Do you still have feelings for him?” 

“No! What made you-” The assumption itself was outrageous; Michel and Timmy broke up ages ago. Even if it had been special, it was just a distant memory now. 

“Then it doesn’t.” Armie shrugs, like it’s that simple and easy. It was very telling of the fact that Armie carries the two thirds of the maturity in their relationship. “I’m the one with you here tonight, and the days after, and then back in the U.S.”

“I’m always stupidly jealous.” Timmy points out guiltily. 

Armie’s brow arches. “Come here,” he lets his duffel drop to the floor as he opens his arms for Timmy to step into. “Your ex’s stuff that you didn’t manage to put away won’t make me walk out the door. And neither will your jealousy; honestly you’re not even half as bad as you make it sound like. I'm with you for good.”

Timmy buries his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in and smiling as he notes that they sort of smell the same now from days of using the same bath products. It was strangely soothing. “Okay,” he murmurs, clutching at Armie’s shirt. 

“Okay,” Armie pressed their lips together, then smiled down at him. “Can I come in?” 

Timmy laughs, then unlocks the door. 

It does need more than a little tidying up. There’s dust on surfaces, and Timmy can see a pile of discarded paper on the coffee table. It’s a cozy space where you see everything from standing by the door, and it made him wince a little. The bed was bare, the bathroom door open for some reason, there are brushes left in the sink, canvases stacked on the dinner table. Armie didn’t even bat an eye, setting their bags down and getting into the clean up. They began with putting away the bigger clutters, placing them neatly in shelves and pushing the canvases against the wall. They swept the dust from the surfaces rather quickly, then puff the cushion of the couch to get more of the dirt out. Timmy takes care of the cupboards while Armie vacuums the floor. They take a break momentarily by snacking on the bread and jam that Timmy picked up before coming up to the flat, and then returned to work shortly after making out against the counter. 

Of all the places that they will find Michel’s things, it just had to be in the bathroom. Timmy was replacing the shower curtain when Armie held up a deodorant, making them both laugh. Somehow, that opened Pandora's box of all the traces of his ex; a drawer full of Michel’s clothes, a pair of his boots under the bed, a bunch of his work sheets, his bag, a hat, a framed photograph of their first anniversary. Timmy gulps, watching Armie’s face, but he’s still as easygoing and amused as when he first guessed what was left in this apartment.

“I’m going to be honest,” Armie begins, holding the frame and turning it to Timmy. “He’s kinda hot.” 

Timmy huffs and rolls his eyes, snatching the picture and putting it in their discard box. “No,” he points a finger warningly, but Armie just laughs. 

“What? I’m saying you have good taste.” Armie says, putting away the last bit of the clutter and closing the box. 

“Yeah,  _ you _ would say that.” Timmy raises a brow at him with a meaningful grin. 

Armie turns his body fully to him, curious about the look in his eyes. Instead of answering, Timmy walks up to him and pulls him by the nape to kiss, opening his mouth obscenely and taking Armie’s tongue in his. It was wet and messy and full of intent, making Armie’s hips jerk when Timmy began to moan into their kiss. They breathe heavily into each other’s mouth when they parted, and Timmy found himself unable to resist the haze in Armie’s eyes as the lids dropped heavily with every blink. Smiling deviously, Timmy latched his mouth on his neck, kissing the stretch of the skin from his jaw to his collarbone and back, nibbling playfully before finally biting on the skin. Armie groaned loudly, his hand flying to grip Timmy’s hair and clenching. Timmy licks at the bite and works Armie’s pants open, tugging it alongside his boxers as he slowly sinks to the ground, keeping their eyes together. Armie is petting his hair, murmuring encouragingly as Timmy’s hands roam his torso before finally settling on his hips; his mouth opening to take his dick into his mouth. 

Upon having a place ensured to themselves, Timmy expected Armie to break out into a domineering figure in bed. To his surprise, the only thing that changed was how vocal Armie became in praising him as he knelt on the floor, sucking his cock. 

“Oh fuck, baby, yes, just like that, you’re doing so good.” Armie pants out, his hand still resting on top of Timmy’s head and stroking his hair. It made his eyes roll to the back of his head, opening his throat to take his dick deeper in his mouth. “Come here, - ah, shit, fuck! - come here,” Armie urges, gripping his shoulders. 

Confused, Timmy released the cock in his mouth and looked up at Armie, earning another string of praises as he gazed down on him with reverence. Armie guides him to his feet and kisses him in the way that weakens him at the knees, and he falls on his chest, leaving his body weight on him. Armie took this chance to lead them to the bed, still bare but already cleaned, his hands firmly on his back and he lays him gently on the mattress. Timmy opens his shirt and tosses it on the floor, Armie doing the same to his own and kicking his pants from his ankles, then working to push Timmy’s trousers away. Impatiently, Timmy wriggles his legs until it comes off, spreading his legs to accommodate Armie’s body descending on him, the two of them moaning when their cocks brush against each other. 

Kissing up his neck, Armie takes Timmy’s lips to his own and opens their mouths into each other, his hands wandering across the exposed skin of his upper body. “Fuck, Timmy, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He remarks breathlessly, moving his hand between Timmy’s legs and stroking at his dick. 

Instinctively, Timmy reaches up to the bedside drawer where he idly dropped their supplies in the middle of clearing, mentally tapping his back for his foresight. He gets a hold of the lube and condom and just scoops it out, the contents flying to the bed in his rush to get them out. Armie chuckles into his skin and takes the lube, the sound of it being squeezed had him opening his legs wider. 

Something in the way Armie touched him leaves Timmy the impression that he’s being worshipped. It’s so focused and intense, and as a result every second they spent like this felt stretched out and heightened. It doesn’t help that Armie makes himself felt  _ everywhere; _ trailing kisses down his neck, running his hands on his flank, grinding his hips against his crotch. By the time he feels the slicked fingers prodding his hole, Timmy is already arching up from the bed, his legs stretched and opened to Armie. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” Armie says to him, demanding despite the haze of their lust. 

Timmy blinks his eyes open to look at Armie and unable to stop the dazed smile on his face when he finds him still worrying. He nods his head, lifting his hips in offering. 

Armie’s breath stuttered and he lunged forward to Timmy’s mouth, driving his tongue inside as they made out. Softly, a finger begins to breach his hole, making Timmy groan. Armie coaxed at him and Timmy encouraged him in return, rolling his hips until another finger joined in to work him open. The sensation made his head fall back on the bed, and Armie used this to kiss and suck on his neck, making him squirm. Slowly, Armie moves away from his neck and licks a strip down to his crotch, and Timmy holds his breath, not daring to assume it’s going where he thinks it will. When he feels Armie’s tongue poking at his hole, Timmy holds his breath. When he puts a hand around his dick to jerk him off as he begins to rim him, Timmy lets out a hoarse shout. 

“Oh my fucking God,” he grouses, moaning loudly and clawing at the mattress. He was so turned on that he’s nearly out of his mind. 

Timmy is a lot relaxed and stretched not long after a third finger is inserted, and he’s pushing against Armie so insistently with a high whine from his throat. Pulling away, Armie rises on the bed to rip a condom packet with his teeth, rolling it on his dick and coating it generously with lube as he continues pumping at Timmy’s hole, making him watch. Timmy is overcome with the desire to touch and he holds his arms out, to which Armie complies easily, removing his fingers to push his dick in, making them gasp in each other’s mouths as Armie slowly sheathes himself to the hilt. It was completely different, not limited to the fact that it’s the first time they’ve had sex all the way, but more especially in the intimacy. Armie holds his gaze as he thrust his hips, shallow at first and then picking up his pace all in consideration of Timmy’s reactions. Their moans escape freely now, no longer conscious of polite company or restrained by household duties. Timmy thought he might burst under Armie’s attention and praises, still flowing extensively as if Timmy would need even more coaxing to get into it. They kiss profusely, moaning in each other’s mouths and shoving their tongues with no reservations. 

All the ways Armie moves are centered around Timmy’s pleasure, his own seemingly secondary, as he takes Timmy’s bobbing cock and strokes at the shaft in the same rhythm as his thrusts. It left his senses so helplessly assaulted, his release rapidly approaching. By this time, Armie can pretty much always tell, and he works him harder, hitting his spot deliciously while his hand twists deftly around his cock. Timmy came shortly after, but he gathered strength in his limbs and pushed at Armie, who took the hint and allowed them to be flipped over. With Timmy sitting on top, he’s taking Armie’s dick unbelievably deeper, and each roll of his hips stimulates his already oversensitive body. 

Resting his hands on Armie’s thighs and leaning back, Timmy says “Take me, take me.” 

Armie sits up from the bed and holds Timmy’s back, moving his hips harshly that the bed rattles with it. Timmy feels himself shivering, too overtaken by the sharp thrusts to his prostate and the endless kisses peppering his neck. Armie tugs on his hair hurriedly to slam their mouths into a kiss, his entire body tensing as he comes. 

“Fuck,” Armie breathes out, riding out his orgasm as they shake from the intensity of it all. “Oh fuck,  _ Timmy _ .” 

There’s an underlying reverence in the way that he breathes out his name. If his brain wasn’t so melted from the mindblowing sex, Timmy would probably spend the entire night dissecting it. Instead, they collapsed together on the bare mattress, covered in sweat and lube. Timmy is nearly falling asleep when he feels Armie caressing his face. 

A loud grumble from his stomach rips through the air, making Timmy finally understand the amused look on Armie’s face. “I can’t believe the capitalists are correct. You cannot live off of dicks” 

Armie guffaws. “No one said that,” he disputes teasingly, yet scoops him in his arms nonetheless, helping him up on his feet so they can shower together. 

They went out late in the night for dinner afterwards, and Timmy totally sauntered in the familiar streets of Paris as if Armie didn’t just rearrange his guts in his apartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy is kinkier between these two. Breathe if you agree.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mainly has nothing in it but sex, so totally skippable (see the first line into the chapter.) It’s to soften the transition back to their real lives in New York, and real life is ugly, as all of us adults know. My rent is still going even if I don’t stay there, fuck COVID.
> 
> Also, for anal sex, realistically, you don’t eat because you know, bowel movement. I feel like I should say that for some reasons. Let’s just pretend porn is real life for one second.

The two months of putting off sex resulted to the entire dam breaking and the valley flooding. They were much too exhausted to have another round when they returned that first night, so they just put on fresh sheets and blankets before falling into bed and sleeping soundly. Their morning however, was welcomed by lazy sex, slow and sensual thrusts as they lie spooned against each other while Armie breathes heavily against Timmy’s ear. They fell into a nap afterwards, waking up before noon. They spent the better part of it rolling on the bed and making out, rutting against each other until their hunger became too much for them to ignore. They used the entire day for catching some rest from their exhausting week and eventual travel, waking up in random intervals to eat or feel each other up again. In the late afternoon, Timmy woke up alone in the bed and mildly irritated by it until he saw Armie moving around the kitchen. They drank coffee that Armie brewed in the moka pot, feeding each other bread until they cleared their plate. They didn’t bother moving from the dining table as Timmy rode Armie on the chair, hard and vigorous as Armie ran his hands on his body and kissed on his neck. 

By the time they were ready to face the world, it was nearing sunset. Timmy thought it was the perfect time to be out, dragging Armie by the hand until they arrive at a cafe. They had a variety of sweets that Armie enjoyed thoroughly and cups of tea as they watched the sunset over the horizon, the Eiffel tower looming over their balcony seat. Timmy found it endlessly endearing that Armie loved taking pictures, asking the staff if they could have theirs taken with the warm light from the dusk setting over their faces. They obnoxiously tried to catch each other in frames after that, snapping here and there until the sky finally dimmed. They strolled around the city until their feet were sore, but neither clearly minded. They stop at almost every street bend, Armie excited to try a lot of the food being served. They weren’t even all that hungry when it was already time for dinner, but Timmy wouldn’t be caught missing the chance to bring Armie to his favorite place when it’s right at the end of the street. 

They stuffed their faces with soups, meats and salads, and of course more sweets, despite their apparent fullness. The food was too good that their stomachs immediately made room for it, though it did evidently struggle. It was a long walk from there back to Timmy’s apartment, which they were grateful for. At least they can walk off the uncomfortable stuffiness from eating so much. The door was just closing behind them when they started pawing at each other, peeling off their clothes and fucking on the couch. It was past midnight when they woke again, finally moving to bed to sleep the night away. 

It was the morning of Timmy’s appointment at brunch, so he felt compelled to wake Armie up so he can tell him he’ll be off shortly. It was a naive mistake on his part; he was not off the bed at all when Armie woke up. What he was was standing on all fours, moaning loudly as Armie pounds him from behind, taking the condom off and coming on his back. He couldn’t even be mad, since he’s having the best sex of his life, so if he had to run out of his flat to catch a cab by the street, then so be it. 

*******

There really wasn’t much to do in the apartment when Timmy isn’t around, Armie thought, and he only meant that half sexually. It was studio-sized and filled with things related to Timmy’s work and craft, though a lot of it looked so behind as compared to where he is now, but that’s not to say they were any less breathtaking. Anyone who would see them would say they were so wonderfully made, and the opinion only changes when put in comparison to how Timmy makes them now; only more refined and more skillful than he was a couple of years back. It was delightful to browse idly like that, especially since they tucked everything away in haste on the night they arrived. A lot of the paintings were actually discarded drafts, unfinished or marked wrong. There were also sketchbooks of varying sizes on the shelf, dating as far back as secondary school. Armie picked those in particular, taking them on the dining table and flipping through the pages as he carefully sipped his coffee. They told stories very similar to how Timmy verbalized things, and Armie can almost read the words between the lines of each drawing on the pages. A lot of them were academic submissions, but there are also a few that he sketched clearly in passing; a busy cafe, a dog park, the street, his own classroom. 

Armie feels his chest bursting with how much he adores this man. It was surreal, to say the least, and a small part of Armie is still expecting the other shoe to drop. Still, he is largely certain on where they stand, and he’s old enough to know that dwelling on his parents’ voices inside his head would just mean standing in the way of his own happiness. Armie believes he has lost and wasted enough in the years that he lives in fear of their ghost, and meeting Timmy made him slowly reclaim this part of his life. He already loves every bit of him with all that he’s got. 

Tipping back his coffee, Armie starts to clean up his breakfast meal and returns the sketchbooks where they tucked it. He turns to the shower after washing the dishes, picking up a bunch of things that Timmy knocked over in a rush to get out that morning. The memory wakes Armie up in ways the coffee didn’t quite hit, his body suddenly alert and heating up with arousal. He allows the water to wash the suds down his hair and his body, taking his dick into his palm and stroking it to full length. The shower dries the skin too much, so he steps out and pats himself with a towel all over before taking it to the bed. 

Armie has sufficiently coated his dick with lube that he could be well on his way to getting off, except that he gets an idea as his hand pumps at the length of the shaft. Squirting a generous amount to his other hand, Armie teases at his hole tentatively, waiting for himself to recoil at the feeling. Instead, his mind supplies him with the times he’s had Timmy in this same position, and he puckers open in response, his slicked finger sliding in. There was the usual initial discomfort at the breach, but Armie just spreads his legs wider, making room for his hand to plunge in again and again until he gets used to it. It had been about five years, likely even more, since he last bottomed, and it wasn’t even the whole experience, just some switch. It wasn’t entirely up to preference, since he allowed it when he felt like it, but with his stature it’s almost assumed anyway. 

Armie adds another finger, scissoring in his and working his muscles open, and thinks if there ever was a good time to jump into trying it out again this would be it. He feels his own breath shudder out of him as the tip of his fingers brush at his spot, making his gasp and moan. Armie curls his fingers inside, trying to reach it, and imagines it would’ve been easier to stimulate it if it had been longer. Helpfully, his brain comes up again with Timmy, and Armie adds another finger to try and give himself the impression of the girth of his cock, pushing his fingers frustratedly to hit his prostate and barely succeeding. Trying to increase his pleasure, Armie tugs at the length of his dick harder, faster, and when the door swings open it was in this position that Timmy’s eyes landed on him. 

“Fuck,” Timmy cursed, eyes already glazing over as he discards his satchel carelessly on the floor, undoing his pants and shaking off his shirt as he walked over the bed. 

By the time Timmy was crawling over Armie, he’s already naked and hard, prying away each hand stroking at his dick and fingering his hole. Armie grins deviously, spreading his legs for Timmy as he fumbles with the condom, squeezing out the lube tightly before pushing his dick in. Armie had long been on edge from touching himself way before Timmy arrived, and the actual image of his fantasy thrusting into him was enough to tip him off completely, his come landing up to his chest with how intense he’d felt. Timmy actually growls at the sight, bending forward so he can lick at Armie’s chest, sending his brain into an overdrive. He moans as Timmy keeps snapping his hips, in a pace far more brutal than anyone would’ve guessed with his lithe body. Armie is arching off the bed, clawing at Timmy’s skin so they can meet and kiss each other. 

It was the type of sex that was so driven that it’s not made to last. Armie is already limp under Timmy, receiving his thrusts and bites and kisses pliantly while Timmy grabs at his pelvis, pounding consistently at the spot that makes Armie’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Timmy just takes and takes, feeling every bit of Armie loving the surrender, until his own dick tenses and he comes, still buried to the hilt. 

“Oh, fuck - ah, Jesus Christ,” Timmy grumbles, slowly pulling out and weakly discarding the condom to the bin next to the bed. “Wha - fucking hell, warn a guy!” 

Armie just lays there, waiting for Timmy to successfully thread his words together in a sentence before his laughter takes over him. Timmy hits him on the stomach, making him curl, and they both ended up in a hysterical fit on the bed. 

Flailing his hand in the air, Armie says “Pass me the tissue box.” 

Timmy’s head perks up at the command, turning bashful at the realization. “Oh sorry, I’m - well,” 

“Yeah you are,” Armie quips teasingly, wiping the come on his chest and throwing the tissue in the bin. 

“Oh give me a break,” Timmy grouched, standing up and walking to the kitchen to get some water. “Nothing could prepare me to come back to you sprawled on my bed like that.” He hands over the glass to Armie, urging him to drink. 

“Yet you stripped super fast.” Armie hides his grin behind the glass as he gulps the water down. 

“Well? What did you expect me to do? Say no?” Timmy mocks the idea with a snort, taking his satchel from the floor and dropping it on the bed. 

Armie sets the glass down on the bedside table, watching Timmy fumble with his bag. “God, I hope not. I don’t think my ego would survive.” 

Laughing, Timmy cups his jaw and kisses him soundly. “You’re lucky you’re handsome and good in the sack. You literally get away with all types of shit.” 

Armie guffaws, snuggling against Timmy’s back. “How’s the client?” 

Timmy nuzzles their faces together, sighing. “Productive, I would say. I even got to a rough sketch during the meeting.” 

“When’s my turn?” The question confused Timmy, so he turns, except that Armie is already moving to lie on his side, propping his head up with his hand. “Isn’t it high time you draw me like one of your French girls?” 

Timmy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Armand, I indulged that line when you first said it because I wanted to get into your pants.” 

“Oh come on. Be patriotic, Timothée Chalamet. Do it for your country.” 

*******

After _finally_ agreeing to put some clothes on, Timmy managed to drag Armie around the city and explore it in ways a tourist never would. To his surprise, Armie asked for the places he personally went to, for whatever reason. It was a rather easy request, yet still made his stomach flutter. Armie can never seem to get enough of knowing things about him, which brings a heady feeling that makes Timmy willingly tip himself over the freefall. They walk around hand in hand, walking into small businesses he bought goods from, greeting familiar faces in the street, passing by memorable buildings. Armie’s curiosity about his life kept pouring at every story Timmy told, and obviously taken by the life he had. At the back of his mind, Timmy knows that Armie, despite the sheer wealth of his family, never explored a dream that wasn’t the one laid out to him. It was useless to bring it up at this point, like picking at the thin skin of the scar until it bleeds open again, and Timmy never wanted to be the person to do that. So he indulged Armie with anything he wanted to know, chatting incessantly. 

“Didn’t you ever think to move here? Like Pauline?” Armie asked as they leaned against the bridge, watching the water flow underneath while munching on street food. 

“It was an option,” Timmy answers, thinking about that time of his life when he had first found love but had to be a continent away. It all didn’t seem so bad to turn his back on Juilliard at that time, and yet when he was admitted, he’s never boarded a flight so fast. “But then I got accepted into Juilliard. I knew then I wasn’t going to settle for anything less.” 

“You just met Michel at that time, right?” Armie wonders, head tilting as he tallies the timeline in his head. 

Timmy watches him ponder over it, curious but not bothered, making him relax into the conversation. “Yeah,” he confirms silently. “In hindsight, there was no way it could’ve worked between us at that time. We loved each other, but we were chasing our dreams in different continents. I knew he wished I would return to Paris after, but the longer I was in Juilliard the clearer it was that my opportunities were there.” 

“What you wanted and what was good for you weren’t very aligned,” Armie nods in understanding. 

Timmy crumples the wrapper once he eats the last bit of his food, tucking himself under Armie’s arm. “What brought this on?” He pokes at his side, teasing. 

Armie jerks away and catches his hand, threading their fingers together. “It seemed like a good thing.” 

Timmy realizes Armie is referring to the apartment. “It was,” he agrees but unsure of where the conversation is going. 

“Hey now,” Armie smiles down at him, hugging him to his chest. “I was just curious. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” Timmy wraps an arm around his waist, tilting his neck up to kiss at his jaw. “I was worried that it finally got to you, with you helping to clean up and us staying in it.” 

Armie actually frowns at that, like he couldn’t believe Timmy would think that. “Of course I know you’ve been with other people, and naturally some are more memorable than the others. I can’t tell you what you’re choosing to keep, because all these things made you who you are now. I will never wish for it not to have happened, everything that led us to this point was essential to us working out.” He finished by looking at Timmy in the eyes and kissing the top of his head. 

“Was your relationship with Liz the last that you tried…” Timmy trails off by making vague gestures with his hand, not knowing how to put it and embarrassed from asking. 

Armie is still smiling patiently at him, his face showing no sign of irritation. “Yes and no,” he responds with a shrug. “It started out real between us, and it was good. We were young and felt we could do no wrong. Maybe we had been too careless like that; we’re so past dissecting where it went downhill, honestly. At some point, I realized I was just trying to keep things together, and our family loved the idea of us, and then it came to the point that they were trying for us. Eventually, everyone else was working on our relationship except us two. Marriage talk really shook us when our families brought it up.”

Despite the solemn topic, Timmy laughed at the last part, only because he’s familiar with both Liz and Armie, and he could imagine how they reacted. “She said you two sat down supposedly to plan the wedding but instead mutually brought up splitting and you told her you were bi and then you hugged.” 

Armie laughs at the memory, shaking his head with it. “Yeah, fuck that was hilarious.” 

Feeling braver, Timmy asks “And the in-betweens?” 

There’s recognition in Armie’s eyes when Timmy used the term, his grin only growing wider at the implication. “I did try, multiple times. Sometimes it was me, sometimes it was them, but the bottom line is we couldn’t arrive at a middle ground. It’s just not clicking, no matter how many times I tried.”

“When you know, you know.” Timmy dared to get the words out despite the lump in his throat. 

“When you know, you know.” Armie clutches him tighter against his chest, agreeing. 

They resume walking around again just in time for the sunset, the warm, orange light covering the city wherever they turned. To many, it was romantic, but as someone who actually lived in Paris, Timmy can only say it made the city look kinder. It was always rushing and competitive, much like New York, except with a different cut-throat elitism to the point where the city’s appeal only extended to tourists and no one else. At this hour, street performances begin to emerge, their flairs shining brighter against the night sky. Armie was momentarily taken by the show and Timmy allowed his attention to wander, turning to one of the performers sitting on the stool.

Lev is an eastern European immigrant that moved to Paris during a civil uprising. Timmy found out that the majority of the band don’t even know one another, and they simply come together little by little while hustling through the foreign land. It has only been three years since he moved, yet already fluent in French. During daytime, Lev tells him he works manual labor, which Timmy internally notes to be the reason for his build. Maybe he had been too taken by his fascination of cultural crossing to notice the undertones, so when he felt Armie’s hand snaking around his waist he belatedly realizes that Lev is trying to pick him up. Timmy has a teasing remark at the tip of his tongue, but it all dissolves when he sees the look on Armie’s face, territorial and imposing. 

He stared down at Lev for a few, solid seconds before putting his mouth next to Timmy’s ear and saying “I’m ready to leave when you are.” 

Timmy’s brain stopped and restarted from hearing the change in his voice, even deeper than normal and slicing through the air. He released a shaky breath, gaping as he nodded and allowed himself to be taken away. He didn’t even spare the performers another glance, not even a goodbye to Lev, his feet deciding for him as his paces matched Armie’s. His pants are getting rapidly uncomfortable, because apparently cropped jeans don’t really allow room for an erection. Reaching upwards, Timmy tries to whisper to Armie’s ear, but only going as far as pressing his face to his neck, the task hard enough with their height difference and even more while moving in hasty steps. 

“Armie, Armie, fuck,” he breathes out, nearly whining as he paws at Armie’s torso. 

Armie didn’t pay attention to him as he walked them straight into a nook of a building, shaded enough that the streetlights can barely reach them as they stand between. Looking at their surroundings to check for a crowd, Armie closes into Timmy’s space, their bodies flushed together. 

When Armie puts a hand around his neck, Timmy has trouble staying on his feet. “How about dinner from that place you liked? It’s just two blocks down from here.” 

“Can’t we just go back to the flat?” Getting the sentence out was a task, but Timmy forces it out as Armie prompts him with a cock of his head at the initial lack of response. 

Armie tightens his grip, just a ghost of a press really, but Timmy’s craned throat left him vulnerable to the touch and it made him moan out loud, his eyes shutting. 

“No, not yet. You’ll need food.” Armie tells him, and with the audacity Timmy has never seen in any other man, he literally just tenderly kissed the top of his cheekbone before stepping away, releasing him completely. “Let’s go now. Do you need a hand?” 

Timmy narrows his eyes at him, unimpressed. “I need a fuck,” he retorts, but takes Armie’s outstretched hand anyway. 

When they arrived, the owner who Timmy knew personally and gifted with an enormous painting was in the restaurant, and he sort of wanted to blow the ground he stood on. Antoine gleefully meets him at the door, his steps careful but still steady despite his age. Needless to say, he allows the man to coo and dote at him while his boner awkwardly presses on his groin at every single movement. 

“How are you holding up?” Armie asks, polishing his knife and setting it aside. He throws Timmy a glance through his wine glass as he sips. 

It’s good that Timmy reclaimed his brain function by then. “Very good, _recharged_ , actually. I would be disappointed if we don’t have sex until past dawn.” 

Armie’s brow raised, but other than that he didn’t visibly react. “Anything for you.” 

The constant passing of traffic gets categorized by Timmy’s brain as mockery. He wants to jump on a cab so bad. Well, he recognizes why it’s important to walk off their meal to help with their digestion, but it’s hard to reason with someone whose dick is so hard he might as well pound nails with it. Armie is definitely resolute in making himself useless, even adding on Timmy’s torment by planting seemingly innocent kisses over his face as they walk. A few passerby even smile at their interaction, cooing at the affectionate couple passing them by at the street, completely unaware of how Armie is edging him to the ends of his wits. Something about growing into a business magnate made Armie permanently appear prim and proper; the type of man who would call your father ‘sir’ when introduced, who would open the door for your mother every single time. So naturally, only Timmy knows what Armie looks like when he’s intentionally hiding behind this facade; he can tell it from the glint in his eyes, the quirk of his mouth, the patterns of his touch. 

Timmy is still trying to unlock the door when Armie pressed up behind him, the solid outline of his own cock rubbing against his ass. “Fuck! Can you hold it? We’re almost in.” Timmy says, frustrated that he can’t open the damn door until Armie guides his fumbling hand, successfully working the lock. 

Once inside, Timmy feels all resistance bleed away from his body as he goes limp under Armie’s touch, allowing him to get pushed against the door and felt up all over. “Is this seriously because of Lev?” 

“Is that his name?” Armie sloths his thigh between his, grinding it directly under his crotch. 

“Yes,” Timmy answers, challenging him. “You thought he’s handsome?” 

Armie takes each of his wrists and pins it above his head with one hand, the other coming back up to wrap around his neck. “I fucking hate the way he looks at you.” He forcibly tilts Timmy’s head upwards, and he couldn’t help how his jaw turned slack and his eyes closed in response to that. 

Open-mouthed, Timmy keened, rolling his hips against the thigh pressed against his balls. “Fuck me, Armie,” he whines, though his voice not losing the bite to it as he demands. 

It made Armie smile. “Feisty,” he remarks, pleased, before finally smashing their mouths together in a fierce kiss that took away the remaining sense in Timmy’s mind. 

Before Timmy could catch up with what’s happening, Armie already has his pants down to his knees. He looks around in alarm, hands flailing to find purchase, only to feel firm grips under his thigh and then he’s being lifted into the air. Timmy’s legs hook over Armie’s shoulder as he dives down to his groin, making sure to scrape his growing stubble against his inner thigh before finally rimming him. 

“Shit!” Timmy shouts, surprised at the sudden sensation, his thighs locking around Armie’s neck as he prods at his hole with his tongue. “Oh, _oh,_ that’s so good.” He moans, his hands stroking at Armie’s hair as his head falls back against the wall. 

Armie curls his fingers, scratching his ass. “Jerk yourself off,” he commands, and when Timmy complies, he sucks on his balls, alternating it with rimming his hole. 

In the end, Timmy resorted to squeezing the base of his dick, squirming off the wall and hissing loudly every time Armie sucks and licks particularly filthily. He was already shaking when Armie pushed him off his shoulders, jutting his hips to catch him there. Instinctively, Timmy wraps his legs around his waist, his pants sliding down and he kicks it off his left ankle. Armie didn’t waste a second, kissing up the stretch of his collarbone to his jaw, nibbling at his bottom lip as he carried Timmy over the bed, tossing him there. 

Timmy squeaked at the sudden throw, a complaint catching in his throat as Armie began to undress himself at the foot of the bed, maintaining eye contact. Timmy swallows, trying his luck by crawling towards him as his pants drop to the floor, joining his shirt. Hanging his tongue out, Timmy maintains himself on all fours, essentially waiting for Armie to feed his cock into his mouth. Smiling wickedly, Armie guides the tip into his waiting mouth, and Timmy reaches forward to grasp under his ass, surprising Armie when he fiddles with his hole as he sucks his dick. 

Their obvious effect on each other is intoxicating, Timmy relishing the fact that he can reduce Armie into a cursing, groaning mess, just as he can to Timmy. In the few days that they’ve breached into this territory, they both admitted how it came as a surprise that they are so sexually compatible, since realistically, people are hardly ever so lucky. 

They are though, even more than just lucky if you would ask Timmy. He takes Armie down to his throat, at the same time that he plunges his index finger to the knuckle in his ass. Grunting loudly, Army begins to move his hips so he dick pushes further into Timmy’s mouth while the finger curls sweetly inside him. Timmy hums, earning another groan, and he finally looks up. He pulls off to the very tip, his lips curling into a smile as he recognizes the look in Armie’s eyes. He already detached his finger and mouth before Armie verbalized his desire. 

“Oh fuck, angel, come here, give me a kiss.” Timmy pushes himself on his knees to give it to Armie, slinging his arms around his neck so he can pull them both on the bed. 

When Timmy pushed the lube into Armie’s hand, he made a mental note to look for the other tube somewhere in the kitchen or the couch because this one is definitely running out. Armie didn’t stop to think about it like he did, fingering him while he kissed like it was a fight. They parted when Timmy was thrashing from the bed, Armie’s long fingers curling and brushing against his spot, only to pump harshly for a few seconds before slowing down again. He tried to regulate breathing, and he noted that the air in the room has turned so stiflingly hot, and he can practically taste the smell of sex when he gulped air. Armie is still relentless on him, adding his teeth to the sensation when he clamps down on his neck. Certainly, it would bruise. 

“I’m going to come, Armie-” Timmy wants to say that he wants to last, he wants to drag it on, but Armie just smirked at him, increasing the pace of his fingers and then stroking his dick, his body helpless to it all and his orgasm ripples through his body, leaving him boneless and sated. 

“Until dawn, angel, remember?” Armie is nosing the side of his face, and the reminder made Timmy chuckle. He spreads his legs, inviting Armie in. “I’m going to fuck you now.” 

The first round felt like it served to simply get the edge off, having put off their erections well until after dinner before taking care of it. Timmy didn’t even try to move, letting Armie have his way as he pounds into him, the sound of their skin slapping, mixing with their combined moans and curses. It was absolutely glorious, and Armie had a full body reaction when he finally came, his entire torso flexing as his breathing stopped, relaxing only after he emptied himself into the condom and fell on Timmy’s side. They had been too breathless to move afterwards, but Armie still manages a damp towel and water to bring to the bed so he can clean Timmy and keep him hydrated. 

Timmy was the one who initiated the second round, lapping at the length of Armie’s dick as it rests on the side of his thigh until he feels it harden on his tongue. When it’s fully erect, Timmy rolls a condom and pours lube on it, keeping Armie lying on the bed as he sits on his dick, rolling his hips and milking it languidly, overstimulating his prostate with every move. Armie made sure to help him get off by stroking his dick, deftly moving his slicked hand and bringing him to his release, before his own cock erupts inside his ass, filling into the rubber. 

The next time they woke, it was already past three. Armie rose from the bed to toast the leftover bread they have, bringing it to the bed with the butter and marmalade. They ate snuggled together, Timmy sitting between Armie’s legs as he leans his back on the headboard. They make out sloppily in between bites, and Timmy was good to start again at that point, but Armie insists they finish the serving, telling Timmy that he’ll need it. 

Armie was right when he brought Timmy to the restaurant that night and he is right again now. When he thought they would hit it right away, Armie surprised him by working on his body so torturously slow, teasing things out of him that he never thought he’d feel. It was the same reverence that Timmy kept on taking note of when they have sex, yet this time it’s added on Armie’s actual body worshipping. He has his hands on Timmy’s upper body, caressing his flank, rubbing his back, stroking his belly, playing with his nipples. Armie’s lips were also permanently planted on some expanse of his skin, if not Timmy’s own mouth. There was a certain point where Timmy already felt himself shying away from the attention, believes that it was too much and then realizing he’s rejecting Armie’s idea of him, to which the man simply responds by whispering praises to his ear, kissing at every part of his face and down to his chest as he began to list the beauty he finds in every bit of Timmy’s body. 

When Armie finally pushes his dick inside, he only moves to what felt good to Timmy. He swears he could’ve cried right then and there; he’s whimpering and gasping under Armie, who’s still only thrusting carefully, knowing that Timmy would be sore by how many times they’ve been having sex over the past days. The whole sensory experience was enough to bring Timmy to his orgasm with hardly any work, Armie following shortly, like always, getting off on Timmy’s pleasure. 

By dawn, it was Armie who was spreading his legs to accommodate Timmy into his body, groaning and tensing more since it still has been a while since he last bottomed, and it wasn’t instantaneous to get used to after one time. Still, they both found a way to make it good, the sex even turning sweet as the kissed and laughed into each other’s mouths, rolling on the bed to readjust, only to come down to each other’s mouths again. It was lighthearted, the two of them relishing the new experience and exploring it, laughing at certain moves that don’t work and repeating the ones that do. Timmy was determined to get Armie off before him, which he achieved through certain perks of ballet, Armie coming off the bed as he nearly shouts his release. Timmy catches his lips again into a kiss, and when Armie’s coherence returns, they giggled. Soon after, Timmy empties himself as his orgasm hits, and they doze off after a very lazy clean up. 

Half of their day was wasted on them sleeping on the hours they lost that night to continuous fucking. It’s alright, Paris would hold. It’ll be there when they wake up. 

*******

It was only after their mindblowing marathon sex that Timmy begins to notice that Armie has always been possessive, just never verbal about it. Every touch he engages Timmy with had been charged with a claim, although he’s undeniably refined and poised about it. Of course Armie would always be aware of his surroundings; he grew up literally fabricating an image to maintain an empire. It took the incident with Lev for Timmy to realize that even if they’re simple touches, they’re not _only_ that, not with Armie. He’s been putting it out there right from the beginning, both for Timmy and himself. _I’m with him, and he’s with me,_ Armie seems to be advertising with every contact he initiates, but never crass, never profane, just small gestures he sneaks in to convey where he stands. 

Now that Timmy knows better about Armie and his tells, he can’t help but smile, finally understanding that Armie had been giving him exclusivity right from the start. 

“Why with Lev?” Timmy asks curiously, feet swinging as they sit on top of a brick fence, eating gelato. 

Armie laughs at the memory. “I don’t need to understand French to know why he looked at you like he did, but you’re an adult. Except in that context, you weren’t aware of what he was doing.” He explains simply, scooping into his cup. “For what it’s worth I am sorry because that’s not how I should deal with it, but I guess I’ll ask you to excuse me for this one. It’s the first, and unexpected from where we were. I wasn’t able to think better of it when he looked like he’s about to play you.” 

“Ah no, don’t apologize.” Timmy waits until their eyes meet before he wiggles his eyebrows and smiles meaningfully, making Armie laugh. 

“Welcome to the gunshow,” Armie deadpans. “How’s his French?” 

Timmy was taken aback by the question. “What? Why?” 

“Did he sound as good as a native?” Armie asks, but his face gives no hint to what he’s implying. He didn’t need to. 

“Ah,” Timmy smiles bashfully. Now that he’s out of the moment of the spectacle, he realizes that the difference could have just been regional dialects trying to speak Parisian French. “How’d you know?” 

Armie looks at him with a fake pout. “Give me some credit, angel.” He says, grinning, and Timmy can already tell he’s about to pull his leg on this. “An ‘eastern European’ whose English accent is _French._ ” He shakes his head tauntingly. “If you can’t tell who’s being hustled, it’s probably you.” 

It wasn’t like Timmy got the short end of the stick as a result anyway. He’ll take it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why I post at such regular interval is because my draft is waaaaay ahead of where the story is now. Which is, to say, we're nearly there. Thank you so much for the beautiful words!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo! For good measure, if you think toxic families and malicious remarks from parental figures will strike a nerve, please heed my warning. There is also a depiction of breakdown. The majority of the second half of this chapter following Saoirse’s point of view will contain something of the sort and the last thing I want is to trigger someone when I promised fluff rabbit hole only. 
> 
> With that said, this is also the longest chapter I have, because I will NOT be caught posting sad shit and not have it resolved within the same chapter. That’s not who I am.

Saoirse stayed in Timmy’s apartment days after they returned from France, upon his insistence. Her supposed last callback will be on Friday, but they’ve used ‘final’ so many times that it already lost its meaning. Timmy only showed up to his own place two days upon their arrival, and she eyed him as he trudged in with only his satchel. 

“Where are the rest of your luggage?” Saoirse asked after Timmy gave him a hug and collapsed on the couch. 

Timmy didn’t even open his eyes when he gestured in the air. “Armie,” 

“Should I get you something?” She asks, concerned. 

“No, no need for that. I’m just,” he makes another vague wave with his hand. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Basically thrown right back to work today, 5 a.m call time, a bit jet lagged. I’m going to be a terrible company.” 

Saoirse winced. “Yikes,” she grouses, rising to her feet. “I’ll make tea anyway.” 

Timmy’s head is resting on the back of the couch. He only hums in response, lazily opening his satchel to review his sheets. Saoirse kept the pantry full during her stay, even if Timmy made it clear that he doesn’t mind all that much. She added their favorite cookies on the tray, bringing it over the couch. She poured him a cup and handed it over. 

“Thank you,” Timmy rolled out the words, eagerly taking the hot cup of tea into his palms. “That feels like a hug,” he adds after a long sip. 

Chuckling into her own tea, Saoirse asks “So how was the trip?”

Timmy instantly smiles, bobbing his head happily. “Good, really good. My family practically adores Armie, and he built a bunch of decors for the party from scratch. Pauline wants to steal him.” 

“His same old all-around impressive self.” Saoirse notes with a grin. 

Laughing, Timmy answers “Yeah, pretty much. You know how difficult papa is.” 

“I bet they talked about politics right away.” Saoirse takes a cookie, not even batting an eye that the usually stoic Marc Chalamet was keen on Armie immediately.

“They totally did! Pauline was so mad. Remember her one ex I told you about who greeted papa with ‘hey man’ and kissed maman’s cheek right at the front door?” Timmy is snorting with laughter at the memory. 

Saoirse joins him, her shoulder shaking with it. “Still can’t top her almost fiancé. He’s so annoying your dogs barked at Pauline’s bedroom door all night.” 

Timmy actually chokes on his tea, sputtering. “Pauline really said she’s not bringing home someone for a while. Maman was a no-brainer. When she knew he’s New York-based, he’s instantly her favorite.” 

“Did you get to meet Curtain?” She asks, nonchalant. 

“Contois,” Timmy gently corrects, even pronouncing it with American accent, but he has a knowing smile on his face.

“Right, Crouton.” 

“They’re just a little vain!” Timmy points out. 

Saoirse had met the family, which to her, should justify her blatant dislike. “Snotty is the word you’re looking for.” 

Timmy is shaking his head, but doesn’t disagree. “I met them for brunch in Paris. I already got a rough sketch for what they want.” 

“Wait,” Saoirse holds up a hand, alerted by a realization. “Did you stay in Paris?” 

The sudden interest took Timmy off guard, so he only nodded tentatively. 

Coming off from leaning against the back of the couch, Saoirse puts her cup down on the table and turns at Timmy. “Armie stayed in your flat? Didn’t you have like, a bunch of Michel’s stuff still? How did he react?” 

Timmy just shrugs, his smile changing into a fond one. “Yeah, I was a bit worried too, but he just took it in stride. He helped me clean up and we put them into boxes.” 

“Oh so he’s just flawless no matter what, is that it? How long were you in Paris? I bet you didn’t fight even _once_.” Saoirse grouched, but they both know she’s extremely glad of how perfectly healthy their relationship is going. 

Of all answers, the brightest blush couldn’t have explained it better. “Uh, three days?” Timmy clears his throat as he tips the cup back. 

“Ah ha!” Saoirse cheerfully shouts, shifting on her knees on the couch and towering over Timmy. “And?” She prompts, laughing when Timmy looks like he’s suffocating. 

“Sit down, Jesus Christ.” Timmy pulled her to sit back down, wiping his palms on the fabric of his pants. “Oh my God, Sersh, I don’t think I’ll live a long life with this relationship.” He buries his flushed face in his hands, sliding down the couch. 

“That good, huh?” 

“Good? _Good?_ ” Timmy repeats, putting his hands away from his face and looking at her like he’s offended. “He _worships_ me.” 

“He does.” Saoirse agrees without missing a beat. 

Timmy’s head whips to her, confused. “What?” 

Saoirse meets his eyes, staring down the questioning look on his face. “He does,” she repeats, emphasizing. “Everyone can see it. Also somewhat possessive.” 

“Oh God, I had no idea.” Timmy shakes his head. “I thought he just liked small touches like a hand on my back-”

“He _does,_ ” Saoirse says it again, harsher this time. “What’s not clicking?” 

“Wait, wait! I get it now.” Timmy rubs his palm across his face. “It took me this long to realize that it’s packed, you know what I mean?” 

Saoirse scoffs. “Of course! He’s all for _exclusivity._ Didn’t I point that when you introduced us? Congratulations for finally catching up.” 

Timmy suddenly looks dazed, spacing out as he stares at the tray. The color rises to his cheeks again, and he continues after a few seconds of gathering his thoughts. “Yeah uhm…”

“What did he do?” Saoirse narrowed her eyes.

Clearing his throat, Timmy says “There was this street performer.” He stops, scowling as he struggles on how to put it. “Well basically between the three of us, I was the only one who didn’t realize I was getting picked up so he can rob me blind or whatever.” 

“My God, Timmy, you’re so naive sometimes!” Saoirse scolds. Timmy does have a penchant for idealism and generosity, likely due to his upbringing, but he’s clever too. Not always, apparently.

“I know!” He thrashes on the couch, still blushing. 

“Well? Armie called the bullshit, didn’t he?” Saoirse prompts, confused now of what this story is supposed to be like. 

“He did more than just call it. He literally stepped in and just-” Timmy waves his hand around, indicating Armie’s towering height and broad build. “I’m the one who can’t keep his cool when Armie gets hit on, like hands down, I get jealous every single time. But not him! When someone comes up to me, he just…” 

“He’s very refined and collected.” Saoirse supplies, taking pity on Timmy and his seemingly scattered brain. 

“There, thank you! I guess it was because he’s not in his playing field, you know? It’s Paris, he wasn’t compelled to be nice all the time. No one knows him there. ” Timmy explains, and Saoirse has to snap her fingers in the air before his eyes go unfocused again. “Right, sorry. God, he was so territorial. He didn’t even go further than a stare down but he just looks so - oh, and the sex! He’s so hot, Sersh, I’m gonna cry.” 

Saoirse has gotten used to Timmy’s storytelling that’s more messed up than a 10,000-piece puzzle in a bag. Sometimes, it works out, especially when she’s really not looking forward to having a mental image of her best friend and his man going at it. 

“Geez, it’s a wonder you still managed to visit your own apartment.” Saoirse says, eyeing him teasingly. 

“I needed a few things for the production, also that piano.” Timmy explains, rising to his feet. “How’s your audition coming along?” 

Saoirse couldn’t help rolling her eyes, frustrated with the ordeal. “Another ‘final’ callback on Friday.” 

“Someone needs to tell them what final actually means.” Timmy quips, biting into a cookie. 

“Right? I’m really just letting Emily walk all over me, but it’s such a good role if I get it.” Saoirse sighs, resigned to how the industry goes. 

“You said they’re satisfied with your ballet, that should count, right?” Timmy asks, clearly feeling better now than he did when he entered. 

Saoirse moves to clear the coffee table, taking their cups and handing Timmy the last cookie before taking the tray. “Yes, _teachable,_ is what they called me. But it was better, you know? When the problem was whether or not I could get back to it. Now, it’s all up to them. No matter how qualified I am, if they don’t want me in the end,” she doesn’t finish the sentence, just scrunches her nose and takes the tray to wash. 

“Have you considered moving to Gloria’s?” Timmy followed her to the kitchen, looking into the cupboard and the pantry.

“She talked to me a couple of days ago at Happy Hour. It’s tempting, but I told her I need more time.” Truthfully, Saoirse would hop into Gloria’s agency in a heartbeat. It’s a big company and produced successful actors for the past twenty years. The problem was Saoirse’s insecurity. She wants to at least achieve something on her own, rather than seemingly riding on a big agency and calling it a day. 

Timmy doesn’t argue, and knows better than to push it. Instead, he just nods, understanding, and turns back to looking at the items available. “Alright, but stay for a bit, okay?” 

“Yes,” Saoirse drawls out, teasing. “Are you making dinner?” 

Timmy gathers stuff in his arms and holds them all together against his chest. “Yeah, lasagna?” 

“Love it.” Saoirse answers. 

When they first met, Saoirse was expecting Timmy to be a helpless toddler tripping at every step in the real world, largely due to his skinny and frail appearance. To her surprise, he’s actually very well-rounded. On top of that, he’s so nonchalant about his upbringing that it was hard to set him apart from an ordinary college student until you look closely and notice the way he’s unfazed by the high society. When Saoirse was finally invited over to his apartment with two other mutual friends, it was only then that it daunted her that Timmy’s family was _that_ wealthy. But then, he cooked his own meals and cleaned his own space. He washed his own laundry and took waste management seriously. He was levelheaded despite the privilege.

Contrary to the stereotype, growing up poor does not guarantee cooking skills. The most she helped while Timmy cooked was chop the things he needed, and then watch the sauce as he went out to get bread. They chat idly as Timmy layers the lasagna and pops it in the oven. Saoirse had no idea that it took that long to make it. At least she can be fully useful when it comes to preparing the garlic bread. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Saoirse asks, waiting for the door to open as it rattles. 

Timmy comes back to her side with a bottle of wine. “No?” 

“Armie then, probably.” She guessed. 

“Huh? He has backlogs that need to be done.” Timmy puts down the bottle on the kitchen island and walks to the door just as it opens. “Armie!” 

“Hey, babe,” Armie grumbles tiredly. “Saoirse!” He greets cheerfully, arms already trapping Timmy in a hug. 

“You look dead,” Saoirse notes, because it’s so obvious even at a distance. 

“Thank you, you look amazing too.” Armie deadpans, making her roll her eyes. She has red and white sauce on her clothes and some herbs that stuck on the fabric of her shirt. “What’s cooking?” 

“Lasagna,” Timmy answers, and they’re already tangled together as they walk to the kitchen, Armie just tossing his briefcase to the couch. “I thought you’d have more work?” 

“Yeah well, I wanted to ask you out.” Armie answers simply, shedding his coat to the hamper and rolling his sleeves to his elbow. “What can I do?” 

Saoirse actually had never been around the two in Timmy’s apartment. It’s even more impressive to watch them in a domestic space. Timmy said the dinner is almost done, so Armie made himself useful in other ways by washing the kitchenware used in preparing their food. They’re also very mindful that they have company, so the chat wasn't just limited to small talk, they actually included her in the conversation. They do things together; cleaning up and setting the table, talking listlessly like they didn’t just spend consecutive days together. 

Even though there wasn’t a moment of exclusion, Saoirse still had the feeling that she should make herself scarce. They exist so intimately within each other’s personal space, exchanging small smiles and touching as they pass. Whenever one of them would engage Saoirse in a conversation, the other would be openly staring with a terribly smitten look on his face. Couple’s displays of affection are also generally gross, and yet Timmy and Armie never seem to fall into that category, even during the first Happy Hour where they met. Instead, they were just sweet and endearing, and had this beautiful dynamic that made them easy on the eyes. It’s still the same now, except that Armie is totally a little shit, annoying Timmy here and there. It’s hilarious, especially since Armie sounds like he runs the mill of brilliant one-liners. Timmy is just so openly irritated and full of it that he would smack Armie away. 

There is an obvious connection and maturity in their relationship that Saoirse doesn't think Timmy has had with any other that he's been with before. They did things for each other simply because they wanted to, without keeping scores of what task they were owed. Compromise comes easy with them too, which is why their arguments are short-lived. Saoirse also sees the profound understanding they have of each other, even during the first few times she was around them. Armie knew just how to make Timmy come down when he's too riled up, whereas Timmy helped Armie relax when he's getting tense for whatever reason. It was clear and plain to anyone who would see them that they're in love. 

Saoirse joins them on the table, their dinner already served and the wine opened. _Lucky lads,_ she thought. 

*******

Armie can only put off dinner with his family for so long. The day he came back to the office, he had Timmy’s gift in hand to put on his desk. He found the gift his dad sent, some expensive cufflinks, which reminded him that he should pack every bit of his time until he can’t avoid them anymore. It worked for three whole weeks, and it’s nearly a month since his birthday. His mother has stopped talking to him, and his father got more and more aggressive every time. Viktor is in his office now, nearing a mental breakdown as they get ready to leave. 

“Shit, are you sure you can’t put some crap in again? No more meetings?” Viktor is pacing the room, rearranging his appearance again. 

“There’s nothing to do anymore.” Armie sighs, sending a quick text to Timmy that he’s off to his parents’ now. “Come on, Tom’s already waiting.” 

Viktor runs his hand through his hair, frustrated. “Fuck dad, he’s so messed up. I can’t believe he’d threaten Tom like that. Like, take a hint. If you need to blackmail your kids, maybe there’s something wrong.” 

Armie feels his jaw clench, anger and shame rising in his chest. “We need to apologize to him. I’ll compensate him too.” 

“Dude, I’d let him resign if he wants. I’d sign a check for his pay for the rest of his contract plus the years he’s with us.” Viktor snaps, punching at the elevator buttons. 

Since they have a good relationship with their staff, everyone pretty much knew right away that they’re not in a chatty mood today. Earlier, Tom called him that they should leave the office by five, and he’ll be waiting to drive them to their parents’ five-storey brownstone townhouse in the Upper East Side for dinner. Armie knew immediately that there’s an edge in his voice, so Tom confessed that their father would terminate him if he failed to bring Armie and Viktor by six in the afternoon. Armie knew he couldn’t risk it; his wife needed constant medical attention, while his youngest is undergoing physical therapy from an infrastructure collapse at his workplace. When Armie first heard about it, he made sure that medical expenses were duly covered by his benefits so Tom could spend it on his family. Knowing all the baggage, Armie wanted to thrash his office when he heard about the threat.

“Tom, I’m so sorry, we’re so sorry.” Viktor is already spitting out a string of apologies even before they climbed in the backseat. “Oh my God, I can’t even-”

Tom only smiled kindly at them. “No, no,” he says. “It’s alright, you’re both here now, so I’ll get to keep my job. For what it’s worth, I’m also very sorry about your father.” 

“We all know he’s a piece of work. You don’t deserve to get dragged into this mess like this. I’m still really sorry.” Armie responds with a regretful shake of his head. “Can I write you a check, at least? Please, as a compensation.” 

“You know there’s no need, I understand the situation as it is.” Tom smiles sadly. 

“Still,” Viktor insists. 

The drive to their parents’ house was so quiet and tense that Armie swore he won’t be surprised if they turn and there’s a firing squad. Viktor is fumbling with his phone, alternating between watching dumb clips and playing a game. Taking his own phone out, Armie sees a reply from Timmy earlier, which he opens immediately. 

_From: Timmy_

_5:29_

_Promise to call me when something happens._

Armie clenched his fists. He types and retypes his response until he knows his answer won’t be a lie. 

_To: Timmy_

_5:53_

_only if it’s something i cant handle. i promise._

Armie knows Timmy won’t be happy with the answer, but won’t push it either. The past weeks since their return, Timmy had been very aware of his parents’ attempts on getting them together for dinner. He only asked about it once, during lunch at the office, and then never again. Armie appreciates the tact, and he’s also extensively grateful that Timmy allowed it. It was unfair though, to say the least, and Armie plans to hash it out one of these days. 

When they arrived, Tom spared them an apologetic look, which Armie and Viktor returned with a nod. They entered the house and were immediately greeted by Miranda, the daughter of their cook Tonia. The massive kitchen and dining area occupy the entire ground floor, and they both took the time to roam it, catching up with Tonia and Miranda as they prepare dinner. Viktor had been swatted away multiple times because he kept stealing the side dishes. Miranda was talking about her studies, she’s a college freshman now and working as a maid to help with bills, and asked Armie about business and accounting, which he gladly supplied. 

“Armie? Viktor?” Their mother’s voice is coming from the top of the stairs, and they exchanged looks amongst each other. 

Sighing, Armie claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder and nods to their staff. “Come on, it’s time.” 

They greet her with a tense smile, kissing her cheek dutifully even though there's no fondness to it. Dru doesn’t even seem to mind the lack of affection from her children, just motioning them to the couch by the massive window. 

“How are you two?” Dru asks, crossing her legs as she sits across her children. “And Armie, don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet for ignoring my invitations.” 

“Mom, I _didn’t_ ignore it. I did have too much work waiting for me since my trip.” Armie reasons, although it’s plain to those who are really in his life that it’s not a problem for him to make time if he wants it. 

Dru rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine,” she waves a hand dismissively. “Well, was it fruitful?” 

Armie tries to pretend he doesn’t notice Viktor straightening on his seat. Their mother doesn’t even know why he went to France, then now assuming it was business. Armie figures he could lie, but then thinks the better of it. Timmy isn’t some dirty little secret. 

“Pleasure rather than business,” he smiles curtly. “I was on vacation with Timmy.” 

“Why bother with names now?” Dru looks at Viktor with a mocking laugh. “It’s not like it’ll be around long enough.” She shakes her head. 

Viktor looks like he wants to flip the coffee table. Armie knows better and just bites his tongue. 

“So you’re finally here.” Michael saunters into the room, putting out his cigar on his way. He eyes Armie and Viktor blankly and sits on the armchair. “The next time you’re leaving for that long, send a notice. It won’t take Viktor longer than two weeks to crash the company.” 

“Viktor actually did very well on his own.” 

“Then how come you can’t seem to find an opening in your schedule to have dinner?” 

Armie and Viktor simultaneously clapped their mouths shut. 

“Quit hiding behind Armie every damn time.” Michael barks at Viktor, irritated. “And you Armie, I let you do as you please, but my God! Abandoning work to fuck in a foreign land is crossing the line.” 

Viktor erupts in a protest then. “Stop saying Armie abandoned his work. He _didn’t._ He wrapped everything up before he left, and when he opened his channel again it’s the turn to autumn-”

“Viktor, darling, it’s irresponsible. Don’t try to justify this now.” Dru reaches out to squeeze Viktor’s hand. “Don’t do it again.” She turns a stern gaze at Armie. 

Armie wants to set the eighteen-million dollar brownstone on fire, but he nods anyway. “Of course.” 

“You’re more agreeable when you decide to be useful.” Michael said, rising to his feet at the sound of the call for dinner. 

It went just as lovely as the initial conversation in the living room. The food was good though, which is pretty much the only consolation. Armie feels his stomach churning and he has absolutely no appetite, but he has no intention of insulting Tonia by not eating her food, so he bears with it and takes it one bite at a time. Michael and Dru had long been separated, but for appearance’s sake still lived together. They stopped putting an act for Armie and Viktor once they felt like they were old enough, but that’s not to say neither of them caught their parents being careless when they were younger. Armie knew at the age of eight that his parents slept in separate bedrooms. It took him a sharing session in class to realize that it’s not normal. They had never been volatile in an explosive manner, but they’re certainly very manipulative. Viktor spent a great deal of his teenage life bending over backwards for them, even resenting Armie at some point because he’s the heir by birth. There was a time in their lives when everyone hated everyone in their house, and Armie thinks that their parents would take every opportunity to drag them into their misery. 

Dru has had her fill of backhanding her children before dessert, and instead just chats incessantly about pretentious and ostentatious things that no one cares for but her. Michael still digs at them whenever Dru would shut up to sip her wine, but the more they drink the harsher the comments become. Dru even asked Viktor if there’s something wrong with him too since he’s still single at this age. 

“But we all know why Armie is,” she scoffs. “So? Is there?” 

Armie is way past trying to champion the LGBT community in this household. His parents would be discriminating and abusive pricks and that’s that. 

Once the table is cleared, Armie’s father surprises him by inviting him to his office with an offer of scotch. Viktor tensed at his side and looked at him with alarm, but Armie went without a word of protest. 

“I’ve been hearing a lot about this man who comes often to the company to meet you.” Michael starts, pouring them scotch from his decanter and handing Armie his glass. “They said it’s been going steadily for months now. Should I be worried?” 

It was a question his father liked to use whenever he started going out with a man. Essentially, it meant to ask if it’s serious, because if it is, then it’s a problem. A lot of the times in the past, it was _this_ talk with his father that would push Armie to break off the relationship. Verbalizing your lack of commitment is betrayal enough. He couldn’t do it this time. He didn’t even consider it. 

“It’s different.” Armie says instead, watching the liquid swirl in his glass. 

“Oh so you’re serious about this?” For what it’s worth, Michael actually looked interested. Armie is yet to find out if that’s a good thing or not. 

Swallowing, Armie answers “Yes, very.” 

Michael narrowed his eyes, and Armie immediately knew the conversation wouldn't end well. “Tell me about him.” 

Armie takes a deep breath before he recites the basic information. “Timothée Chalamet, French-American, musician and artist, graduated from Juilliard, his mother worked for the Equity, his father-”

“I know his father. Old money, that man.” Michael cuts him off, ready to move on. “So you went to France to meet his family?”

“Yes,” Armie replies simply, uncertain. 

“That’s not the benchmark for being ‘very serious’ in a relationship.” Michaer prompts. 

“What do you know about relationships?” Armie bites back. He almost never talks back to his parents, he’d been far exhausted and resigned to even bother with them when he got older. Except this time, he truly doesn’t think there’s a thing that his father would say that would count. 

“Only that I have held up one since ‘85.” Michael snaps without missing a beat. 

“Bang up job.” Armie answers, his anger rising. 

Michael just raised a brow at him, unimpressed. “Calm down boy, you don’t know a thing.” 

“I think watching you for most part of my life entitles me to _some_ knowledge.” Armie retorts, setting his glass down before he throws it to the wall. 

“I loved your mother, well and truly, when I married her.” Michael smiles into his glass before tipping it back, emptying it in one go. “I don’t know anymore if the signs have always been there that we’re doomed from the start, or we just happened to grow into different people as we go. Our relationship begins failing shortly after you were born.” 

Armie had never had either of his parents address their relationship, ever in his life, and it left him dumbstruck in his seat, helpless and gaping at his father. 

“We had Viktor as a renewed attempt, sort of a restart. It was worse. I will not horrify you with the details, but the fact of the matter is, I was once in your shoes; in love and ready to fight for it. And I did. What did it result in? I permanently scarred the two people I helped to bring into this world.” Michael points a finger at him and waves it. “You never really can tell when the lines of love and hate begin to blur, but I also know from experience that stopping you will just spur you on further. Remember this; they say loving is a choice. I _chose_ your mother, and I’m still choosing her even if it’s hellfire and chaos every single day of our marriage. I chose her then and I choose her now, but what good did it bring? Don’t be a fool, Armand. You’ll learn soon enough love is only for those who cannot turn to anything else to save their lives.” He sets his glass down on his desk and walks away, telling Armie to follow suit, though barely heard it. 

Moments passed before Armie felt all the words settle into his consciousness, and to be given the very proof of decay of love in the form of his parents made his stomach violently twist. Soon after, he’s jumping to his feet and swinging the door open to the bathroom, emptying his guts as he throws up the dinner he just ate. He feels cold sweat around his face, shaking with the realization, and the fear that rises from his chest paralyzed his body as it spreads. He heaves again, his entire upper body working to get all the contents of his stomach out, and he later found himself on the floor with tear tracks along his cheeks that he’s sure weren’t only because he’d been gagging violently. 

Armie couldn’t keep track of the time if he tried, so he just did his best to look as presentable as possible, rinsing his mouth, washing his face, combing his hair. His shirt is uncomfortably drenched in his sweat, but there’s hardly anything that could be done about it. He closed his suit jacket over it, which concealed it just enough. When he returns to join his family, he feels numb all over, mind going on overdrive yet blank at the same time. It was like the noise in his head was distant and wasn't his own. Perhaps because that’s what they are, but it doesn’t matter all that much when it bears enough truth in them. Naturally, no one can tell that he just had a panic attack in the bathroom of the other room, except for Viktor who warily touched him to ask if he was okay. Armie tried to smile, and told Viktor that he just got schooled all the way to his core. It wasn’t far from the truth, and Viktor bought it. It sounds like their father to do it anyway. 

Despite Armie and Viktor hating their parents with all that they have, they still stayed well past ten, until Dru was the one to give up and said she needed to catch some rest. Armie and Viktor were on their feet faster than anyone could respond, making fake pleasant remarks as they prepared to go. 

“Dad really rattles you. Are you sure you're alright?” Viktor asked once they were in the car, looking at him with concern. 

“I think he poisoned the scotch he served me.” Armie crossed his forearm over his eyes, tipping his head back against the seat as he hides his face. “Do you think mom and dad were ever in love?” He dared to ask, but still not brave enough to look at his brother in the eyes. 

Viktor was silent for a bit, and when he talked Armie realized that he was hesitant. “Yeah, I think I do.” 

Startled, Armie sits up and puts his hand away from his face. “What? How?” 

“It was after a meeting, long ago, with dad’s old business associate Mr. Carter. He told me about mom and dad before their marriage; a really happy couple who went everywhere with each other. Dad would take mom for long drives to the beach and mom would sneak out just to go out on dates. He said everyone who saw them knew they were made for each other.” Viktor silently relays, and Armie can just sit there and will his stomach to stop pushing out. “It scared me for a time, you know? How something so good can turn out like that.” 

The dread in Armie felt in his father’s study is back, even heavier now that he knows Viktor felt it too. This one makes him want to lash out, furious that his little brother suffered silently over the same thing and Armie can’t do anything about it. Except it’s different between them now; Armie actually has a relationship at stake. He thinks of Timmy, of the possibility of Armie looking at him like his father looked at his mother, only to fail in picturing himself in the position. Then he thinks of Timmy looking at him with disdain, and his stomach lurches so hard that he only realized that he’s dry-heaving when his arms are holding on the door to steady himself. 

“Fuck! Armie, what’s up with you? Do you need a doctor?” Viktor has his hands on his shoulders, helping him to lean his weight against the seat instead. “Are you serious that you think dad poisoned you?” 

Armie laughed at that. They can’t even put it past their parents to pull shit like that. It’s so telling of their A+ parenting. “No, Jesus Christ.” He denies, pushing himself up. “I’m fine, really. Something about my stomach though, like it’s not digesting. I feel solid food in my throat.” 

Viktor looked torn between disgust and worry. “Geez, is it because there were oysters? You’re always so squeamish with that thing, you shouldn’t have eaten it.” 

Armie just waves him off, not having it. “Yeah, yeah, but here we are. Besides, I won’t ever insult Tonia like that.”

When they arrived at their building, Viktor wanted to see him up his flat just to make sure that he'd make it. Armie convinced him that he’s fine when he never showed any discomfort or nausea during their elevator ride. Viktor made him swear to call if he really turned out to be sick, which Armie agreed, just so he can have his brother off his back. He’d come back to an empty apartment, Timmy busy with a new production he was tapped to be in the music pool for. Idly, he wondered if he should send him a text that he’s home, and decided to do it once he’s inside. 

Instead, Armie finds Timmy curled on his couch, sleeping with a book on his chest. He feels the panic and affliction he nursed since his conversation with his father ebb away, and in its place a wave of relief and the soothing affection he has for the man. Bending down, Armie pressed a kiss on Timmy’s forehead, brushing the curls that strayed on his face as he lay on his side. Slowly, Timmy begins to stir, aware of the strokes on his face and forcing himself to wake. 

“Hey angel,” Armie doesn’t kiss his lips even if he wanted to, feeling as though he doesn’t have the right to it when he’s doubting them for most part of the night. “Why are you sleeping on my couch, hmm?” He chides, his hands hovering over Timmy as he pushed himself to sit. 

Timmy is rubbing at his eyes sleepily and pushing the hair away from his face. “I wanted to wait for you. I know it’s a difficult day.”

As if his gut hasn’t been turning itself inside out for the past hours, Armie now feels like he’s been punched directly at the center of his core. “You didn’t have to. You know you can see me tomorrow.”

“No time like now.” Timmy shakes his head, cupping Armie’s cheek. The gesture twisted his insides, and he’s glad there’s scarcely any light in the flat. “I can’t stand thinking you’d be alone with your thoughts after. I cooked you some dinner too. I was concerned that eating would be a bit hard out there.” 

Armie’s breath tore at him, and he released it shakily as his eyes prickled with the sudden rush of his tears. More than anything, he feels ashamed to have allowed the vileness of his father to overpower his own reason again. Yet still, Timmy doesn’t push him, just waits and waits and spends himself for it. Armie knows it must’ve gnawed at him for weeks now, feeling Armie step away and put a distance every time the room even slightly shifted to the thought of his parents. Everything about Timmy made him want to be better, to do better, and it shames him deeply that he allowed one conversation to break his faith in what they have. 

No words still followed even if Armie stayed silent. Timmy’s hand is still on his jaw, his thumb brushing against his cheek as he grants him all the time he needs. Armie doesn’t doubt it that Timmy won’t even protest if he says he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s not what he deserves though. 

“My father sat me down in his study to ask about you, mainly if we’re serious, since he’s already heard a lot around the company.” Armie forces the story out despite the enormous lump in his throat. “He then proceeds to tell me about his own story, with mom. Dad said he loved her from the start, and Viktor heard from an old associate that they had such an amazing relationship that you’d think they’re made for each other. It’s the first time he ever acknowledged it. All my life, I’ve been convinced that it might’ve just been a marriage of convenience. What else could it be? Surely that’s the reason why they resented each other so openly.” He stops, feeling his face crumble. 

Timmy is boundless in his understanding of him, knowing that Armie only needs him to listen. His hands run caressing touches from his face to his arms, and Armie is so grateful for the touch of comfort. 

“But it’s not. They were two people who loved each other and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, until they didn't. And yet, they stayed to make it work, and then it didn’t. They tried time and time again and failed, but still chose each other, and kept choosing each other until now.” Armie lets the tears flow, the pinch in his chest growing into a vice that made it hard to breathe. He wipes at his face harshly, angrily. “Dad told me I’m being a fool, because they loved each other and it wasn’t enough, they chose each other and it still wasn’t enough. The worst part about it is how it completed the picture; the other half of the story that I know, finally met with the beginning that _they_ know, and I couldn’t stand it. I was thinking of you and I knew that’s the point he was driving at and-” His voice finally breaks when his breathing becomes too shallow and his attempt to regulate it only resulted in ripping a sob. 

Timmy moves to gather him in his arms, tucking Armie’s face under his chin and he gently rocks them back and forth, soothing him with careful strokes on his hair and assuring rubs on his back. 

“I believed him.” Armie confessed when his sobs subsided. Timmy tensed, but still waited for him to continue. “I believed him, Timmy, and I hate myself for it, so much. I should’ve known better now. I’m old enough to know better than to listen to the words of the man who fucked me up for good, but I still did! God, I’m so sorry.” He clutched on the fabric of Timmy’s shirt harder, hugging him so tightly against his chest that he must be having trouble breathing. 

The first time Timmy opened his mouth to respond, he used it to forgive him. “No, Armie. You don’t have to apologize, not to me. Not about this. It’s not your fault. It’s _not_.” He’s dropping kisses on the top of Armie’s head, and it brings fresh tears in his eyes.

Despite his awareness of his state, Armie removes his face from hiding under Timmy’s and looks him in the eye. Timmy smiles encouragingly, his long fingers moving to wipe the tears on his face. “You’re the literal light of my life, and I love you. I know it because every piece of me screams it, and I don’t want to lose the best thing to ever happen to me just because my parents decided that every love is doomed to end like theirs.” He watches as the words dredge themselves on Timmy, and his face stays in astounded shock for seconds before finally breaking out in the happiest smile that devastated something in Armie. “I love you, my _God,_ so much. Even more than I know what to do with.” 

Timmy laughed like he couldn’t believe it, his own eyes shining with unshed tears not shortly after. He looked too overwhelmed for words, so he just cradled Armie’s face to bring their mouths together, climbing on his lap and kissing until they were breathless with it. “I love you too,” he cried out into Armie’s mouth. “And I’m so proud of you. God, these past weeks, I’ve been so _scared._ ” 

The confession shakes Armie from the elation from hearing Timmy say it back. Armie pulls back to get a proper look at him but Timmy only chases his mouth, slothing them together in another passionate kiss. 

“I thought things were coming down finally, that it can only burn so bright for so long.” Timmy says, embracing him. “Just as I knew I’m already so in love with you. It was killing me.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Armie pleads, kissing Timmy’s forehead, down to his nose and then his lips. “And thank you, for giving me time to unlearn it all, for letting me go at my own pace. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Timmy is shaking his head, his smile revering and kind. “It’s okay. We’re here now.” 

It made Armie smile too. “Yes, we are. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Timmy replies, unflinching and steadfast. 

Armie believes him, and vows to himself to only keep on believing what's between them. It's this part that's simple, if not the only, and it exists with such great conviction and absolution. Armie knows it's theirs, in ways no one else can hope to understand. It's the greatest love of his life. 

They stayed tangled together on the couch, trading kisses and running their hands up and down each other. Armie feels his every voice in his head fade to the back until they’re no more, until the only one left is his and Timmy’s, and they resonate with each other so loud and true. Armie had to close his eyes and take a moment just to listen. It was the most peaceful he’d ever felt his mind to be, like a reverse wall-tearing where he allowed other people to put him in a box, and now he’s finally letting the barriers crumble and seeing all his life has to offer if only he let them disappear into the distance. 

“Dinner first?” Timmy asks, looking up at him from being snuggled on Armie’s chest. 

Armie is more interested with what comes next. “I’m not hungry,” he answers, sitting them both on the couch and kissing Timmy’s neck. 

“Oh yeah?” Timmy urges, disbelieving, even if his own breathing gets shallower with Armie’s intent. “Enjoyed it? Were you full?”

Armie had to scrunch his nose at that and he puts a distance between them so he can look up at Timmy’s face as he straddles his thighs. “No,” he purses his lips, contemplating if he should admit it. When the omission tasted like ash in his mouth, Armie confessed it. “I had, uh - well - an episode, after talking to my dad. And I threw up.” 

Timmy’s scowl made him look like he can hide a body and succeed in it. “How are you feeling now?” 

“Good,” Armie promises, smiling despite the topic. “My boyfriend told me he loves me.” 

Timmy laughs at him, hitting him on the chest. “That’s right, now move along. Come,” he tugs Armie to stand up with him as he climbs off his lap. 

“You’re not gonna tell me again?” Armie pulls Timmy by the wrist, catching his waist and kissing the sides of his face. 

Giggling, Timmy immediately puts his hands on his face, bringing their lips together. “I love you,” he tells him, eyes shining with glee. 

“I love you,” Armie returns with marvel, wondering if it would ever stop taking his breath away. 

“Let’s?” Timmy nods to the kitchen after giving him another peck on the lips. 

Armie just allows himself to be dragged, wanting to help but Timmy only pushes him down the chair with a kiss on his forehead. He settles on watching him move, taking a pot and heating it in the oven. 

“What’s that?” Armie asks, smelling the food and realizing he’s definitely hungrier than he thought. 

“Ossobuco,” Timmy answers, pleased that his appetite is back. “I brought wine.” He holds up the bottle, showing the label. 

Armie walks over to him, overcome with the urge to hug and indulging himself. Timmy goes willingly as Armie wraps his hands around his waist, looking up at him with a sweet smile. “Do you have plans this weekend?” 

“None,” Timmy visibly doesn’t allow himself to assume, but it’s clear he understands. 

“I’ll call in sick tomorrow. Let’s spend it together.” Armie offers, watching Timmy break out in a smile. 

“What brought this on?” Timmy’s hands are caressing his face again, dumbfounded. 

Armie shrugs. “I missed you.” 

They’ve been together constantly since they return from France, but it’s different due to the strain Armie feels over the impending dinner with his parents. In a way, Armie truly missed them, how they were when nothing stood between them, when their feedback loop is continuous and unfiltered. It’s returning to the same footing now, even better than the last because they have another pillar holding them up, and it’s _glorious._

Dinner was amazing. Timmy used some prime cuts of Wagyu beef and it was heavenly, and the wine he served with it enhanced the taste even more. Their chats just wandered more into more mundane territory; Saoirse finally confirmed into the movie she’s been auditioning for, Timmy managing a hefty raise in his fees due to his growing reputation, Pauline getting nomination talks over her recent successful movie. Armie ate them all up, feeling more himself than he’d been in a while, realizing that his best self and his most favorite is the one he becomes when he’s with Timmy. 

They put away their plates while exchanging knowing glances, and Armie swears he never thought dishwashing would ever be a part of foreplay in his sex life, ever. But here they are, it’s hilarious at the same time that it’s exhilarating, to have something so domestic be so ingrained in their relationship and knowing that they’re existing in each other’s life so intimately to have come to this point. Finally, Timmy takes his hand and leads them to the bedroom. 

There wasn’t much talk from there; everything that needed to be said has already been left in the open. Right now, they only need each other, and the assurance that everything has already settled into their rightful places. Timmy strips quietly on the foot of the bed, pushing Armie on his back and gently peeling off his clothes then taking the lube and condoms out of the drawer. Heat immediately rises to his cheek, feeling himself wanting to shy away from the attention, but Timmy crawls over him, taking his face into his hands to kiss him. 

It worked to have his eyes close as Timmy moved to cover every inch of his skin with his; peppering kisses on his cheeks to his jaw, nibbling on his neck to his collarbone, running his hands from his flanks to his chest. Armie understands the unspoken command to just lie there and receive, so he clutches at the sheets and arches helplessly, nearing the point of begging Timmy. 

“Not yet,” Timmy warns, his tongue flicking at the bud of his nipple while his nails scratched at his flank. “I’m with you, and I _love_ you.” He adds, insistent and sure, not leaving a room for doubt or argument. 

Armie’s torso comes off the bed when Timmy tenderly holds him by the waist and trailing kisses from his sternum down to his stomach and then his crotch. He takes each leg and puts it over his shoulders, carrying its weight as the position forces Armie to spread himself further. There were light presses of lips on the inside of his thighs, the gentleness of the gesture making Armie shiver and breathless as he moans. Timmy’s hands are under his legs now, just below his ass, and he made sure to caress him softly and languidly as his mouth worked its way to his crotch with kisses on its trail. It wasn’t even nearly as much as anything they’ve done in the past, but it was still so explosively intense that his mind blanks when Timmy finally offers him relief by stroking his cock. 

“Fuck,” Armie drawls out, struggling with air as Timmy begins to suck on his balls, catching them in his palm while his other hand works deftly on his cock. 

Tentatively, Armie reaches out a hand to push Timmy’s hair away, and it earns him an encouraging smile. Braver, Armie threads his fingers through the curls, effectively getting them out of the way and giving himself grip. The action made Timmy look at him triumphantly, his mouth opening to finally put his lips on his dick. Before he completely lost his train of thoughts to the feeling of Timmy’s mouth swallowing him to the hilt, Armie gets the impression that Timmy is provoking him to reach for what he wants. His head falls back on the pillows and his eyes roll back and shut, overwhelmed by the combination of Timmy’s actions and meanings. 

“I want to touch you.” Armie says, with as much steadiness as he can manage with a putty brain and rock-hard dick. 

Timmy comes off of sucking him, leaving an obscene lick on the tip of his dick before setting his legs down. He slowly crawls over Armie, until they’re face to face and close enough to be veiled with Timmy’s grown hair as it falls around them. His hands cradled the side of his neck, moving his face around so he can leave kisses all over it. “Do it.”

Armie breathes out a long sigh, which Timmy received into his mouth as he opened them, staring intensely at Armie with hooded eyes. He looked so otherworldly and sensual, spurring Armie into action. He used the tips of his nails to scratch up Timmy’s back, making him arch his body into Armie, brushing their cocks together. Armie hissed, rising from the bed and chasing the friction, before curling his fingers bluntly on Timmy’s back to leave marks, then flips them over. Automatically, Timmy spreads his limbs open, offering himself as he sprawls on the sheet. Armie blankets his body over him, breathing him in from his hair to down to his face, taking a moment to just put their foreheads together before kissing him. 

Slowly, Armie works his fingers between Timmy's legs, the rim giving away easier as they've done this pretty regularly. He kissed his neck when Timmy’s head tipped back helplessly, rolling his hips on Armie's fingers. It made him smile, relieved and somewhat dumbstruck about the way they still knock the breath out of each other like it's still new between them. Timmy is writhing helplessly under him, moaning lewdly from every kiss and push of his fingers. Armie descends further down from his chest, licking down until his mouth arrives on the head of his cock. He suckles on it, running his tongue around before taking it down his throat, making Timmy yelp loudly. 

Impatient and close to his release, Timmy pushes himself on his elbow and cups Armie's jaw, bringing him up for a kiss. He feels a hand on his dick as their tongues curl on each other in their mouths, the condom sliding down, lube following it as Timmy works his finger on the length of the shaft and jerks him off. Armie takes the hint and arranges their limbs, kneeling on the bed as he brings Timmy’s hips to his and then up, sheathing his cock in shallow thrusts until it buries to the hilt. 

They moved in a sensual, thoughtful rhythm, Armie rotating his pelvis in ways he's come to learn that drove Timmy crazy, hitting directly on his prostate and getting him to thrash on the bed. Not long after Armie stood on his knees to pound earnestly into him, Timmy stretched his hands forward, asking for Armie, and he granted him, helpless to anything he wanted. They kissed, and Timmy used the leverage to pull himself upwards, so they're sitting on the bed, Timmy on top of Armie's dick and Armie guided his body to bounce on him, lifting his hips every time to drive further in and meet Timmy as he moved. The change in position obviously worked for them, so Armie took Timmy’s dick and jacked him until he spurted on their stomachs. 

Limp from the stimulation, Timmy’s face falls on the hollow of his collarbone, but he urges Armie to keep going, _begs_ him even, and Armie feels something feral drive him to piston his pelvis harshly until he too reaches his orgasm, pumping himself empty inside Timmy. 

“I love you so fucking much,” Armie breathes to Timmy’s neck when they collapsed on the sheets, boneless and sated. 

Timmy hums mischievously, petting Armie's hair affectionately. “Oh, I can tell.” The snark made Armie laugh, forcing his head to look at Timmy, who's looking back at him with satisfaction and pride. “I love you too, though.”

_Oh dear, he's such an ass,_ Armie thought fondly, pinching at Timmy’s skin chidingly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go!!! I love you all for leaving comments 🥺 And also!!! I’ve noticed you quite enjoyed a chapter of sex, which... well 😉


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is only a filler; just a little insight to what life could be like if some of us weren’t so single lmao. Also, realistically, no couples are ever without a fight.
> 
> I seriously only found this in my drafts, so if it comes off like a hot pile of soup sandwich, it's because it's written by my three personalities coming together at one a.m.

If Armie thought that they'd need another vacation to have sex again at the same rate as they did while in Paris, then he'd been so sorely mistaken. Armie is supposed to come in for work on that Saturday, but it wasn't that hard to call in sick when Viktor and Tom saw him dry heave in the car. It crossed his mind momentarily that his father might prod him for missing work the day after dinner. It's hard to care all that much when he wakes spooning Timmy, who’s grinding against his morning wood lodged between his ass. Smiling, Armie locked his arms around his middle and pulled him on top. Timmy is lying on his stomach flat on top of him when he pushes his dick inside, and they move lazily against each other like that; Timmy rutting on his abdomen to get himself off while he slams his ass down to get Armie deeper until they come. 

It was brunch time when they woke again, making out languidly until they can’t ignore their growling stomachs anymore. They cooked their breakfast in boxers, which Armie protested vocally against but Timmy threatened to kick him out if he touched their food while naked. Unwilling to part, Armie did as he’s told and made awful morning-after jokes until Timmy warns him that he’ll burn his food to cinders. He makes them coffee and sets the table as Timmy cooks. For obvious reasons, their meal had been short and light. Armie got down on his knees to give Timmy a blowjob against the counter, his mouth still warm from their food and coffee. Timmy’s knuckles are white with how tightly he gripped the edge, shouting his release as Armie just swallows around his dick; driven all the way to the back of his throat as his come pours out of him. Armie flips them from there and puts a condom on, squirting the lube loudly before fucking Timmy from behind, hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm. They’re on the tiled floor when their heads finally cleared, and they make out until they find their way to the shower. 

The rest of their day was lost to sex, trying to get some work done and then turning to one another to initiate another round. By night time, they’ve pretty much done it on the couch, in Armie’s study and another in the bedroom. 

“Fuck, fuck, _oh_ ,” Timmy shudders, burying his dick to the base as Armie lifts his hips off the bed, milking his orgasm until he feels the spurting stop. “Ah, that’s so good.” He breathes out as he slowly drags away, tying the condom and discarding it. 

“Well, I really hope so.” Armie snarks, nudging Timmy with his toe as he reaches for the rag on the bedside to clean them up with. 

Timmy rolls his eyes, wiping them down. “No one should be this much of a smartass after sex.” 

“But you love me,” Armie says triumphantly. 

“I do love you.” Timmy agrees, tucking himself under his arm. 

Sunday was thankfully not as crazed as Saturday sounded, but they still fucked the whole day. They were setting the table for late lunch when they passed each other by and simultaneously did a second look before bursting into a hysterical fit of laughter, noticing each other limping as they walked. 

Timmy is of the opinion that only amateurs will let that stop them. They went at it in the shower, Timmy’s face pressed on the glass and bouncing his ass as Armie fingers him, curling them inside before pumping fast until he comes from overstimulation. When Timmy was too limp to stay on his feet, Armie took him in his arms and dried him with a towel. He took them to bed and fucked into Timmy with lazy rolls of his hips as they lay spooning, dozing off shortly after. 

It’s come to the point where Armie almost always agrees to Timmy’s opinion, so if he’s bending over his desk in his study while he lets Timmy pound into him from behind, that’s his business. He didn’t even have enough brain function to think better of jacking himself off and coming on the side of his desk, but there you go. At least Timmy growled shortly after, his dick spasming inside him as his own orgasm spills into the condom. If it’s any consolation, at least Armie is not going to live with a come-stained desk, wiping it diligently before it dries. 

“We gotta do laundry tomorrow,” Armie grumbles sleepily, totally spent from the amount of sex they’re having. “We’ve changed the sheets like five times.” 

“Right,” Timmy doesn’t even sound like he registered what was said, already humming contentedly as he uses Armie’s chest as a pillow. 

“Or we could do it in your place next.” Armie suggests, dozing off. 

“Or we can get a sex swing.” Timmy quips. 

If Armie wasn’t so goddamn drained, he’d take that as an invitation to fuck again.

*******

The next Happy Hour became a double celebration. Saoirse is finally confirmed as the supporting actress in the film she’s worked so hard for, while Timmy is one of the pianists tapped for a fall classical concert. It was pretty last minute though, but Timmy said he wasn’t about to complain. Another man’s loss is his gain, he’d said. Saoirse is already mixed into the crowd, half drunk out of her mind and dancing with a bunch of people, while Timmy is well on his way to blacking out if he takes more shots. 

When Armie said he’ll show up but it’s going to be late, he knew he should expect to walk in on them like that, but damn, the way he stood frozen while he saw half of the pub hammered is really telling of how long it’s been since he was a college student. 

“Between the two of them, Saoirse is totally the heavier drinker, for better or for worse.” Jeremy says, inviting him over to the booth he’s sharing with Gloria and two new faces. “Erina and Maia,” he gestures to the two, who give Armie a wave as he sits down. 

“Hello; Armie,” Armie greets politely. He turned to Gloria and kissed her cheek. “Hey ma’am,” he teased, earning himself a light slap on the arm. 

“Oh don’t be an ass now.” Gloria complains, but clearly amused by Armie’s banter. “Your boy will need a little more coddling tonight. I hope you’re not having a terribly busy day tomorrow.” 

Armie looks over where Timmy is bent in half, laughing, while Saoirse is hanging on to him for dear life. “It’ll just have to do.” He says, feeling himself smile at seeing his boyfriend ao openly happy. 

He allowed himself to be engaged in a perfunctory small talk. Maia is a Broadway dancer and had a stint in competitive figure skating. Erina is originally a graphic artist, but Gloria thought she was a darling and offered her some acting classes. They both know Timmy, Erina meeting him at Happy Hour while Maia worked with him in an off Broadway show. 

There’s a quirk that Timmy and Armie share: They always seem to know when the other is in the room. It doesn’t matter if it’s a crowd or their own apartments, they’ve sort of developed this extra sense which detects each other’s presence. So while Armie is staring, he already expected that Timmy’s eyes will land on him, but he never thought it’s a different experience to watch it happen. Suddenly, Timmy seemed momentarily sobered up, aware of his surroundings and scanning through the crowd. When he finds Armie, his smile returns, and he’s totally in a long distance relationship from being sober. Timmy yanks at Saoirse, who’s too out of it to notice normal poke, and points at Armie. It’s so telling that she’s well and truly had her fill when she waves eagerly at him, almost giddy to see Armie. 

“Oh my,” Armie laughs, rising to his feet. “They’re gonna knock people over. Excuse me,” he tells the rest of the table, nodding towards the pair. 

Timmy is already holding out his hands when he sees Armie walking over them. “Armie!” 

“Careful, angel.” Armie says, catching Timmy in one arm and helping to steady Saoirse with the other. “Will you return with me in the booth or you just want to say hi?” He teased, though he’s already leading them to their seats. They need water. 

“It’s so cool what they’ve done to the place!” Saoirse suddenly burst out, pointing around the room. “The decors are angled!” 

If Armie’s hands weren’t full with guiding their weird human train of drunks, he would’ve guffawed into his palms. Saoirse’s vision is already tilted, she shouldn’t be given more drinks. 

“I know! The booth is turning,” Timmy grips the back of the seat, trying to stop the movement and clearly not realizing it’s just his vision swimming. 

Armie let them slide into the booth and finally folded into himself, laughing. “Jeremy, please,” he says between his breaths. “Pass me the water? Thank you.” He pours a glass to each, and Saoirse downs her water like it’s still alcohol. Timmy on the other hand wanted Armie to do all the work, so he cradles the back of his neck and makes him drink up until Timmy gives a light tap. 

“What’s that?” Timmy asked, looking at the glass and tilting the pitcher. 

“It looks like vodka.” Saoirse responds like it’s a juicy gossip. “Do you think I can pick up a Russian? They’re mental! One time..” Her speech is already slurred from intoxication but she still rattles off with the story. 

Too bad that Timmy has the attention span of a fly. “As long as it’s not Armie, pick up whoever you want.” He dismissed her, sniffing the water. “Or papa,” he adds, cocking his head like he’s unsure. 

“Ah, to be young and stupid.” Gloria remarks gleefully, sipping her cocktail. 

“Ouch, Gloria. What does that make me?” Armie feigned indignation with a shake of his head. 

Gloria grimaced at him, flicking a slice of olive to his direction. “What you are is a whipped son of a bitch.” 

Laughing, Armie made a show to look over his shoulder. 

“Who whipped you?” Timmy asked, seriously concerned if not a little angry. 

It’s hard to remember that Timmy’s mother tongue is actually French when he speaks English as well as he does. As it happens, there are still a bunch of expressions that fly over his head, especially the ones that don’t really get used as much anymore in pop culture. Or when he’s drunk, apparently.

Pulling Timmy by the shoulder, Armie hugged him to his chest and kissed his forehead, charmed and amused. “It’s just an expression, nothing to worry about.” 

“It sounds violent.” Timmy protests weakly, appreciating the contact and nuzzling on his chest. 

Armie couldn’t help but coo, petting his hair lightly. “Some of them are.” 

“Yeah, like that one that goes ‘having mustard go up your nose.’ Terrible image.” Timmy replies offhandedly. 

For the life of him, Armie cannot remember this idiom. “What?”

“It means losing your temper.” 

“How did that…?” 

“Because the mustard is in your nose - are you listening to me?”

Armie is so terribly confused yet floored with amusement. “Angel, I don’t think that idiom is from English,” he says gently, in hopes he can stop his laughter and offend his drunk boyfriend. 

“Huh,” Timmy looks up to the ceiling, contemplating. “ _To have mustard go up your nose,_ ” he translates, likely trying the words in French to see if they fit there better. “ _Yes, you’re right. That’s French._ ” With the way he didn’t regard Armie, it’s obvious he knew he’s speaking French and not bothering to translate. He’s just not expecting an answer.

Armie only understood the part where Timmy said yes, so he just took it to mean that he agreed and it was a case of multilingual confusion. The table just grew into a bigger mess from there. If Saoirse still gets served more alcohol, someone will go to jail, but she’s still yelling for it even with Maia and Jeremy holding her down and waving away any waiter whose attention was caught. Timmy is perpetually pissed off for some reasons, only entertaining Armie and everyone else gets dagger eyes. At least he’s not snapping at Gloria, but she’s definitely taking him apart with how much she’s teasing. 

Someone took over the mic and the band suddenly broke out in an impromptu performance, a bearded blonde man coming into view as they started doing a rendition of What’s Up. Saoirse is instantly on her feet, might even climb up the table if she wasn’t stopped, waving her hand in the air and singing loudly. 

Inevitably, someone throws up, and it’s neither Timmy nor Saoirse. From experience, Armie knows just the sound or sight of it can induce the same reaction from other drunks and he turns to Timmy, just in time to catch him look a little squeamish. 

“I think it’s time to go,” Armie announces softly, giving a nod to everyone on the table. “Who’s with Saoirse?” 

“I am,” Jeremy answers, then corrects himself. “Actually, my sister. She’s…” He gestures to the general direction of the crowd, and Armie nods. 

“Alright, be careful. Would you mind sending a text to Timmy when you’re home? He’d worry.” Armie is already half-carrying Timmy on his side, ready to take him to the bathroom. 

“Of course, take care, you two.” Jeremy assures them with a wave. 

Gloria stops him by the wrist and squeezes. “Good man, you are.” She tells him, appreciative. “Timothée is very lucky.” 

“Ma’am, if only you knew,” Armie disagrees insistently with a shake of his head. 

“Then even more so.” 

Gloria let them go from there so Armie could take Timmy to the bathroom. It’s already that hour of the night and they’re not the first to come here to empty their guts, but Armie just leans back on the tiled wall as he guides Timmy to stand over the sink. When the gagging starts, Armie holds his hair away from his face and grips on his shoulder. Timmy didn’t throw up a lot, but was still exhausted by it. When he finally looks like nothing more will come, Armie brings him out of the pub where Tom is waiting. 

Without being asked, Armie takes them to Timmy’s apartment, figuring he’d want to be around his things as soon as he can start working after the wonderful news. Armie takes the time to tell Jenny that he will come only after lunch and profusely apologizes for the late notice. It is a blessing when the drunk you’re taking care of ends up passed out at some point, and Armie chuckles as Timmy snores lightly on his chest. 

“Do you think we can pass by to get takeouts? Pizza’s good enough.” Armie asked quietly, arranging them so Timmy can lie more comfortably. 

“Of course. I’ll take the route. Must’ve been a night,” Tom remarks goodnaturedly. 

Armie hums in agreement. “He got an offer to be in a line-up for a fall concert.” 

Tom lights up with excitement. “That sounds very good!” 

“It is,” Armie concedes, smiling at Timmy’s sleeping figure and stroking his temples. 

“Well, congratulations.” Tom says. 

“I’ll let him know.” 

Armie left Timmy on his bed to fetch clothes for him to change into, but he bolted right back to the bedroom when he heard fumbling noises. Timmy is trying to get to the bathroom, probably to throw up again, and Armie catches him just in time. 

“Let me help you, angel,” Armie takes him by the shoulder and leads them to the en suite. 

“Armie,” Timmy drawls out. “I think I’m drunk.” 

“Tough luck,” Armie laughs, holding the door open and bringing them in. 

Timmy preferred to slide down the floor, his hands crossing on the toilet seat and waiting for his stomach to turn. “I love how you call me angel.” He mumbles idly, his cheeks pressed on his forearms as he faces towards him. 

“Then I’ll keep doing it.” Armie reponds simply, brushing the hair away from Timmy’s face and smiling as he blinks dazedly at him. “Anything else?” 

“I’m really in love with you, like a lot. I think you walk out of my teenage wet dreams though.” 

“I’m actually a real person, thank you. Also, I love you, too.” 

“But I’m gross!” Timmy whines, face scrunching at the thought. “I’ll sleep here. You can have the bed.” 

Before Armie can answer, Timmy’s upper body rolls and he heaves. He attentively moves the strands out of his face, holding them on the back of Timmy’s head as he empties his stomach again. At some point during the night, Timmy finally sobers up, but still very slurred and incoherent. 

“You know, if we met in a club, I’d let you call me anything else you want other than angel.” 

Timmy also keeps chipping in random comments like that, making Armie want to get himself drunk. He just stuffed Timmy’s face with more pizza, hoping he shuts up. 

“Have we had kink negotiations? You quite liked getting tugged by the necktie.” 

The glass almost slipped out of Armie’s hand in surprise. It’s hilarious and frankly endearing that Timmy seems to just let out an extensive amount of questions he never asked sober rather than any other stupider things, but it’s quite a task when it’s all about sex. 

“Have you thought about the sex swing?” 

This is entirely inappropriate now. Armie sighs, his sanity tipping dangerously as Timmy keeps on putting these goddamn ideas in his head, but he’s drunk. It’s driving him up the wall that his boyfriend is a little shit even without trying. Still, he persists, rinsing Timmy’s hair with the shower nozzle, then sprays the rest of his body down after bathing him in the tub. He carries him to the bed wrapped in a towel, slipping him into fresh clothes and tucking him in before taking a shower by himself. 

When he returns to the bed, Armie finds the glass of water empty and Timmy sleeping heavily. It was quite a taxing night, especially after the long hours at work during the day, but he doesn’t really feel the exhaustion. It wasn’t the kind that wears at his bones and irks his mind. In fact, Armie finds that he quite likes it. Not to me, not if it’s you, Armie recalls, smiling at Pylades’ response upon being told that taking care of a loved one is rotten work. He dozed off with this thought and a smile on his lips.

*******

Timmy woke up with an outrageous headache, but at least he’s not paralyzed from head to toe by it. He can still sit up without feeling like his body would split into two starting from his forehead, but the throbbing is persistent. The bed was empty when he opened his eyes, which was honestly such a bummer. Armie must’ve gone to work by now; it’s already past eight. There’s a glass of water next to where his phone is plugged, thanks again to Armie, and he sees the text from Jeremy that he got Tasha and Saoirse home safely. Timmy sends a quick thanks, drinking the water in large gulps, and goes up to pee, returning to bed shortly to sleep some more. 

It’s not clear to Timmy if he actually dozed off or just closed his eyes long enough, but he regains awareness of his surroundings when he smells brewing espresso and fresh bread. He blinks heavily, trying to shake off his sleep in case his mind is making things up, but the smell remains. Now that he’s more focused, he even hears movements in his kitchen; plates and glasses clinking together, knives and forks, a rustle of paper, the tap running. Finally, the door to his bedroom opens, and Timmy sees Armie’s back before his face as he pushes it to let himself in. 

“Oh, you’re up.” Armie smiles, and Timmy blows out a surprised laugh when he finds a bouquet tucked under his arm. “Let’s have something in you first, hmm? Then you can take some painkillers.” He sets the tray down on the bed, careful not to spill anything. There was enough on it for the both of them. 

“Why, thank you.” Timmy responds, touched deeply and giddy about it. “I hope you’re joining me.” 

“Like I would miss the chance,” Armie scoffs, rounding up the bed to sit on his side. He offers up the bouquet to him; a beautiful arrangement of massive sunflowers and fully bloomed white roses. “Congratulations,” 

Absolutely floored and blushing from it, Timmy takes the flowers and pulls Armie by the nape, kissing him fully on the lips. “I love you,” he breathes out, foreheads pressed together. “And thank you.” 

“What I wouldn’t do for you,” Armie shakes his head, chiding lightly as if Timmy is being silly to imply that it’s a lot. “I love you,” he kissed the top of his head before pulling the tray closer, and they fed each other like that until the tray cleared. 

“Why aren’t you at work yet?” Timmy asks, taking the painkillers and glass of water. 

Armie takes the tray away and sets it on the floor. “I’ll go after lunch.” He answers simply, still cleaning up after their meal. “No missing pieces from last night?” He teased, but walked out of the room to take the tray to the sink. 

Timmy figures he’ll return shortly, just wanting to give him a moment to think. Despite his state last night, Timmy was actually not blackout drunk. He remembers most of it, and knew what he was doing at that time; he just lacked rational voices in his head to stop him. The headache is also significantly less severe than he expected. Armie probably made him chug a whole lot of water when he arrived. 

Tossing the covers, Timmy pads to the kitchen and meets Armie along the way. 

“Ah, so not so bad?” Armie is smiling with amusement, walking up to him and brushing his hair. “Headache?” 

Timmy shakes his head, feeling himself blushing at the doting and speechless about it. 

Armie is still looking at him with so much love and adoration. “Anything I can get you?” 

They’re hugging in the middle of his apartment, for no apparent reason other than Timmy being slightly hungover. Honestly, Timmy could just take this and die a happy man. 

“No, nothing else.” Timmy answers with a giddy smile, shaking his head a little. “But maybe a kiss.” 

Armie catches his chin on his hand, but grips firmly to keep him in place. He rubs on Timmy’s bottom lip, amused and full of wonder, until he groans impatiently and Armie finally takes his mouth into his. “How’s that?” 

“Could be better,” Timmy quips suggestively, grinding their crotch together. 

“I need to wash the dishes.” Armie doesn’t look like he’s thinking much about it at all, but he sure takes every opportunity to be a little shit. 

“They could wait.” Despite popular opinion, Timmy actually can retain function in his head even in such close proximity to Armie. Knowing he needs to be leaving soon, Timmy nods his head to the bathroom, taking his shirt off while still wrapped in Armie’s embrace. 

Armie already looks thoroughly convinced with this option. The moment Timmy’s top is off, he dives down to the center of his chest, breathing in deeply and kissing. His hands slip under the waistband of his sweatpants, palming his ass and squeezing. Timmy wriggles where he stands and jumps, locking his legs around Armie’s. Quick to take the hint, Armie crouches down and hikes him up on his pelvis, carrying him with his hands under his thighs and bringing them to the shower. 

Timmy is still fumbling with the shower setting when he feels Armie go down on his knees behind him, and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Armie parting his ass, his tongue poking out to rim him. Timmy’s hand slips when he feels Armie lick around it, the flat of his tongue running obscenely across his hole, and he hits the shower knob accidentally, the spray startling them both as it washed down. 

The thing with shower sex is, it’s only hot when you think about it. When you’re there, it’s so much damn work. Everything dries up while the ground is permanently slippery. Armie has to coat his fingers generously and often when he’s fingering Timmy. When Timmy got on his knees to blow Armie, he has to make it messier than usual so his saliva will hold and there’s enough slick on the shaft as he swallows it down. They turn off the spray when Armie is pushing his dick inside, the condom so coated with lube that it drips between their legs. Timmy’s hands are planted on the wall, slamming his body back to meet Armie’s thrust from behind. When they’re both near their orgasm, Armie suddenly grabs on Timmy’s neck, using the grip to pull him so they can fuck back-to-chest. It was so hot that Timmy blanked out when he came, squeezing the base of his dick as he rode it out. Armie is still pounding in his hole, breathing heavily on the side of his face while he keeps Timmy close by the hand on his neck. The growl he released when he came made Timmy’s eyes roll to the back of his head, moaning lewdly as he felt Armie’s dick twitch inside him. 

They made out in between cleaning each other off afterwards, and saved a grand total of zero time by showering together. If anything, they’re taking longer as they stumbled into Timmy’s wardrobe. Armie already has a section of it for his clothes, just as Timmy also has in Armie’s apartment. 

“Meetings today or casual?” Timmy asks, only bothering with boxers and Armie’s sweater as he opens the cabinet. 

“Casual,” Armie answers, sitting on the ottoman with an amused grin. 

Timmy considers the answer, bobbing his head. “Here,” he hands a navy suit jacket and trousers. 

“Just this?” 

“If it was up to me, nothing at all.” 

“Yeah, you’d say that.” 

They exchanged looks and snorted at each other, laughing. Timmy finally comes up with a black turtleneck, checking out Armie blatantly as he sits on his boxers. 

“I do have to get going.” Armie is still laughing as he accepts the turtleneck, putting it on then stands up to wear the slacks over it. 

Sighing regretfully, Timmy says “A man could dream. Can I style your hair?” 

Armie glanced at him sideways, closing the jacket over his turtleneck and looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Sure, I don’t see why not.” He returns to sit on the ottoman, pliant and happy to just let Timmy fuss over him. “How do you come up with this? This look made me appear even taller.” 

“I know right? It’s from one of my fantasies.” 

*******

Because perfect couples don’t exist, Armie and Timmy had a fight nights before the fall concert he’s playing for. It’s a week before Halloween too, so it just adds to all the things that are going on around them. It’s not like they don’t ever fight; they argue and bicker every single day like any other couple. The thing is, it’s always quick and comes down easily. Both of them are pretty reasonable; Timmy is immensely tactful while Armie is boundlessly patient. It was the first time that they butt heads though, both of them defensive and proving their points. 

“I told you, I am hardly ever involved with the galleries and museums, and by extension their beneficiaries or whatever they choose to sponsor.” Armie explains, jaw tense and irritated that they’re back on the same point again. 

Timmy breathes out harshly, trying to control his rage. “Well, I guess that just makes everything work out. It’s there now.” He tossed his phone to his couch, tamping down on the urge to start thrashing his things. 

“I said I’d look into it. I’d have them release a statement if you want-”

“I don’t want you to release a _statement_.” Timmy cuts him off, then takes a moment to pause when he hears his voice rising. “It’ll just fuel the talk further. What good would that do now?”

Armie rubs a hand across his face, visibly frustrated. “Then tell me what I can do!” 

“I told you, there’s nothing we can do about it now!” Timmy is standing up in the middle of his flat, next to the piano and in front of his balcony doors. 

Armie follows him when he turns to go out to the balcony. “Then why are you still blaming me? I’m offering every single thing I can think of to make things better, but you just keep giving me deadends!” 

“I am not giving you deadends,” Timmy angrily snaps, turning around and facing him. “I’m just saying that your galleries turn out to be a major sponsor of the concert, and now people are talking.” The thought of it made his skin crawl, so he abandons looking out to the balcony and instead slams the doors shut. 

“See? You’re talking like it’s my fault.” Armie gestures at him, already exhausted and helpless about his situation.

“By association!” 

Armie only gapes, dumbfounded. Timmy instantly feels remorse rising in his chest, tears prickling in his eyes as he feels the combined shame of having people think he’s only in the concert because his boyfriend’s charity is a sponsor and the fact that he’s taking it out on Armie even if he’s well aware that he keeps a distance from it. 

Armie sighs, reaching out to him and calling softly. “ _Timmy-_ ”

“Don’t use that tone on me.” Timmy glares, shrugging off his touch. The shame just keeps rising and rising, and yet his rage is still coming unchecked, even spurred on by the tone. 

“Oh so me calling your name is a problem now?” Armie should be angry by now, crucified for some fluke that he didn't even commit. Instead, he just sounded resigned and incredulous. 

“You’re addressing me like a child!” Timmy shouts, angrier with himself than Armie. “This means a lot to me. It’s one of the opportunities I got by myself, from working to getting my name out there. And now I’m getting discredited because everyone thinks my boyfriend sponsored a fall concert to give his sugar baby a few seconds under the limelight.” Every single word he repeated were the constant contents of the gossip he’s heard and read, and it tasted sour on his mouth. It was nothing compared to how painful his chest constricted when he dared to look at Armie who flinched; horrified by the implication and devastated with the thought that Timmy believed it. 

Timmy instantly wants to apologize, gather Armie in his arms and embrace him. He’d cry at his feet asking for forgiveness too, but Armie’s phone rings. Momentarily, he looked like he’s going to reject it. It was his work phone though, and reading the caller ID made him sigh. 

“Give me a moment. It’s,” Armie didn’t finish the sentence, just indicating that it’s important. “Hammer,” he announces to the other line, bypassing Timmy and going out to the balcony, the door softly closing behind him. 

Timmy feels like his life is slowly crumbling down piece by piece, and all he can do is stand uselessly and watch. Weakly, he forces his feet to move to the kitchen, splashing his face with cold water and gripping the sink. What’s there to be done now? Timmy will still play for the concert, having signed their deal and it’s just a couple of days away. Yet, he just had to drag Armie into it, and now he’s thoroughly upset with Timmy. He earned nothing. In fact, he has a feeling he might even lose them both. 

The tap is still running when Armie finds him in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall and spacing out. He made sure that Timmy acknowledged his presence first before walking over to his side and closing the faucet. 

Armie leans his hips on the edge of the counter, putting at least a foot between them. The uncertainty in Armie’s actions made Timmy’s eyes sting again, thinking the last safety and comfort Armie knows is taken from him too after Timmy mindlessly lashed out. God, he wanted to cry so bad. 

“I have a meeting in thirty minutes,” Armie starts gently, his breathing controlled. “I’d reschedule if I could, but the client flew from Mumbai and won’t be back here in three months.” 

“Yeah,” Timmy nods, pushing himself from leaning over the sink and copying Armie’s stance so they stand side by side. “You can’t afford to miss it. You should go.” 

Armie sighs again. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?” 

That’s the last thing he wants. Timmy just wants to disappear from the earth. He wants to bury this memory away and continue his life like nothing happened. He’d give anything for it. Except Armie would be expecting better from him, so he nods, still not meeting his eyes. 

“Come here,” Armie waits again for Timmy to react before pulling him to his chest. The tears immediately flood in Timmy’s eyes, but he doesn’t dare to let them fall. “I’ll be going _for now._ I love you. Very much.” He kissed Timmy on the top of the head, then strokes his hair before planting another on his forehead. 

Timmy is still frozen in place moments after his front door clicks shut, Armie already on his way to his business commitment. Idly, he walks over to his piano and starts some classical pieces he knows by heart. His fingers followed the muscle memory while his mind wandered off, thinking considerably less about the concert and more about Armie. Now that he’s coming down from his anger, it’s clearer which between the two is more important to him. He really couldn’t care less that people would talk behind his back and speculate about his work; he’s in arts and music, and subjectivity is a huge part of it. Besides, his skin is not that thin. 

Hell, even the concert doesn’t sound like it’s such a big deal anymore, even if it’s going to be a nice touch on his resumé. He’s only twenty-four; this is hardly the last that he could be offered with. Honestly, trying again doesn’t even sound so bad right now. 

Not in comparison to Armie. Armie, who had some down time and decided he wanted to spend it with Timmy. Armie, who just looked panicked and worried when Timmy told him about the news going around. Somehow, kindness in the face of rage only makes it feel justified, and Timmy lashed out. It was as if he’s wishing Armie would blow over too, to just start shouting so they can hash this out and… 

Timmy’s finger slipped, and the music collapsed from there. His face crumples and his eyes shut close, the tears finally falling. Above all, he feels so disappointed with himself. Provoking Armie to fight back, implying that it was his fault and then making him sound ridiculous when he verbalized it. Timmy’s hands cover his face, catching his tears as he sobs. 

When he feels he has better control with his breathing, Timmy wipes his face harshly and indulges his urge to hide away. He slips under his blanket, then notices that Armie’s smell lingers on his bed, and the scent rips out another bout of sob. Armie parted with him with the assurance that he’ll return, that they’ll talk about this, that he loves Timmy, _very much,_ and Timmy cries harder at the thought that he failed Armie. 

When Timmy opens his eyes, he feels a tad disoriented that he fell asleep, then searched the blankets and then the bedside table for his phone. He remembers it getting thrown on the couch, not like he needs the reminder as he already woke up with a heavy heart. Feeling like the sky fell on him, Timmy struggles out of the bed to fetch his phone. It turns out to be three hours since Armie left, and it’s already past dinner time. He thinks of cooking but feels not a single bone in his body willing to comply, so he returns to bed. Jenny has a string of messages for him, mostly apologies, the news reaching her and she went from assuring to furious and then back. It was good that she also added he doesn’t have to respond, she just wanted to reach out, and he can pretend not to receive anything if that’s better. Timmy is touched though, and notes to himself to make her a batch of sweets the next time he swings by. 

He tossed it on the pillow after reading through his personal messages, opting to stare at the ceiling while he aches all over. Timmy thinks he can only wait at this point, not really entitled to anything anymore since he was just about tearing his relationship with Armie earlier. The tears stopped coming, thankfully, but without the release the pain just feels more prominent in his chest. His text alert rings twice, and he has to gather a lot of will to even spare it a glance, not really feeling chatty. 

_From: Armie_

_7:38_

_i want to see you_

_From: Armie_

_7:38_

_can i come up?_

Timmy feels a wave of relief for a moment, before his shame takes over again. He types a quick reply before he messes up again. 

_To: Armie_

_7:40_

_please?_

Despite the exchange, Timmy still couldn’t shake the possibility that Armie probably left already. They gave each other keys to their apartments a while back. Armie could get in if he really wanted to. Timmy clutches the phone to his chest, as if it could stand in for Armie, but Timmy doesn’t think he’s in the position to complain. When he hears the door open though, Timmy feels himself wanting to sink into the blankets and hide. He doesn’t get much time to argue with himself about it as Armie slowly pushes at his bedroom door, stopping there. 

“Hey angel,” Armie greets softly. “Can I come in?” 

Timmy couldn’t bear another second of Armie walking on tiptoes around him. He sits up so quickly that he gets a head rush from it but then, it takes one look at the worry and fear on Armie’s face for him to crumble again, reaching his hand out as a sob escapes from his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages to croak out, but Armie just folds him into his chest and makes shushing noises, stroking his hair and rubbing on his back. “I love you, I love you so much, Armie. I’m so sorry.” Timmy feels desperate to get it across, scared that the meaning has been lost and he’s left with trying to chase it back. 

“I know, angel, and I love you, too. I’m sorry.” Armie gently says, shushing him again as he rocks them back and forth. “It’s alright, we’ll figure it out. I’ll find a way to-”

Timmy shakes his head insistently, pushing against Armie’s chest to meet his eyes. “No, stop. None of it was your fault, and I mean it. I’m sorry I implied it earlier, I was lashing out over the-” he waves absently, pertaining to the concert that he cannot give a damn to at this point. “It doesn’t matter, and it won’t matter in the future. I’d still play in the concert, and I’ll prove them wrong, and even if they still talk I can just try again. I don’t care.” 

“Don’t say that. Of course you do care. Timmy, it’s important to you, and I’d hate to be the thing that will stand between you and your dreams.” Armie says, threading their fingers together. 

Timmy clicks his tongue, impatient again. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t _care_ , because I’m not about to let the opinions of strangers fuck up the best thing in my life.” He continues when Armie still looks unconvinced. “I got way too ahead of myself earlier, please don’t hold that against me forever. I know what I want, and I’m not putting aside my career or my dreams or whatever the fuck else. You’re my future, too.” 

For a moment, Timmy wonders if what he said was too much, but Armie blows out a relieved breath and smiles.

“Oh thank _God,_ ” Armie brings his knuckles to his lips, kissing it. “I was scared that maybe the age gap will come between us, too. That we’re not looking down the same path.” 

“That’s stupid. Age is never-” Timmy grimaced, ready to dismiss it. 

“But it is a huge thing,” Armie insists, his worry returning. 

“No, it’s not. Are you really going to tell me that you know better? No one knows better in this life. We just come in swinging.” Timmy watches Armie bite his tongue, clearly wanting to say more. “Is this going to be another fight?”

Maybe the jab was cruel, but it got Armie’s attention. “No, no, I hate fighting with you.” He hugs Timmy again, nuzzling against his cheek. “I love you.” 

Timmy gets the impression that Armie is repeating it for the same reason he has. “I love you.” 

“I also talked to Jenny, we’ll have to take it up to the institution formally, but I already asked to be explicitly notified for any conflict of interest, no matter how small or passing it might look. Anything that will cross paths with them and you, they’ll run by me first.” Armie explains head on, determined to argue his move if it’s contested. 

Timmy appreciates it. “Thank you. It’s still not your fault.” 

“But we can be better.” Armie replies, like it’s final.

“Of course.” Timmy agrees. 

The fight on top of their already stressful weeks drained them completely. It’s rare that they order in, especially since cooking is such a domestic affair for them, but neither of them really felt like moving. They’re pulled too tightly by the fight, and they’re overcompensating to each other by aggressively cuddling on the bed. When they bickered about their order, Timmy feels another wave of relief hit him, thankful that they could bounce back from such an emotionally exhausting fight so fast. They ate takeouts on the bed too, with Timmy arguing that he’ll have to change it anyway so even if they spill food it would be fine. They’re snuggled together as they slowly finish the Chinese fast food, talking listlessly and teasing each other. 

The days that followed their first big fight taught them a lot more than the fight itself, mainly because they can’t really guess what would come up in the future. Instead, they focused on the feeling afterwards; how they marvel about having each other back after a fight, how they try to make it up to each other with simple to big gestures, how they put in more effort to spend time together. Timmy is eternally grateful for their love, as all-consuming as it is unconditional, that is sometimes difficult, yet worth every effort. It’s an excellent way to remind them of how good they have it with each other and together, how lucky they are, and they both took the experience to the heart, knowing that their fight for their relationship will always be greater than the fight they have between each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was justified, no? We all need some friction to be stronger. Or something like that, as long as you don't consult physics.
> 
> ALSO HAHAHAHA. Y'all act like Oliver didn't totally shove his tongue down Elio's mouth after he threw up in Bergamo 😩😭💀 THEY RINSE THEIR MOUTHS IN MY FIC OKAY hahahajshsjahsjs


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sike! Double update, primarily because I read the previous chapter and wondered what the hell that was. So I posted this too, for the plot or whatever.

To say that Armie and Viktor are stumbling head over heels in burying themselves neck-deep with work on Thanksgiving week is an understatement. Viktor even went as far as looking into the extensive business trip that will take him to Lithuania, but Timmy eyed him cautiously, warning against eastern European winters. Armie found out that despite the equal footing of American and European influences in his life, they never really cared much for Thanksgiving. Timmy said it was because an entire roasted turkey just didn't thrill their taste buds that much, and it's much too large for a family of four, who lived in a small French town that largely don't have much appetite for it either. Bringing Timmy is an option, a terrible and horrifying one, but still. 

Armie tried his luck with flying out again, just pulling a disappearing act on his family and showing up again when the holiday passed. His schedule couldn't permit it though, and Timmy is already nearing the deadline for the Contois busts that he was commissioned for. 

“Can I get one of these?” Armie asked as he sits by the piano, watching Timmy polish off Mrs. Contois' figure. 

Timmy snorts, wiping his hand and changing tools. “Of you?”

“Of _you,_ ” Armie smartly corrects. 

“What would you need a bust of me for?” Timmy looks lost somewhere between completely done and holding back his laughter. 

“For when you're busy.” 

“What?”

“I need a man.”

Timmy blinks rapidly, dumbfounded. Armie bends over in laughter. 

“You're an ass.” Timmy rolls his eyes, though laughing along. 

“Well if you change your mind,” Armie pressed on, because he's bored and anxious about the idea of stepping back to his parents’ house. “Let me know your fees.”

Timmy turns slightly to him, putting a hand to his hip. “Why are you terrorizing me like this? Aren't you a CEO? Hold up the economy.”

“Because I want attention.” Armie says simply. 

“You’re not lacking attention, Armand. I just sucked your dick.” Timmy retorts without missing a beat, wiping the sculpture, and scraping some more. 

“Do you think you can work while I suck you off?” Armie asks, delighted that Timmy actually looked momentarily interested before shaking himself out of it. 

“This is a commissioned piece,” he sighs regretfully. 

Armie milks the moment. “That’s not a no.”

Timmy looks like he wants to kick him out. “No, it’s not.” 

Armie claps gleefully, even whenTimmy scowls at him. “Alright, watch out then.” 

“Should I suck you off under your office desk though?” Timmy knew exactly what he was doing, barely glancing at Armie. 

No office sex, is the number one rule, because Armie has a wrap-around floor-to-ceiling windows in his office and he can’t risk it. Under the desk though… “I’d risk it.” Armie says, determined. 

Timmy snorts, pelting him with a scrape from the sculpture. “Stop distracting me and stir my sauce.” 

Armie walks over to Timmy before complying, grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing the top of his head, like an unnecessary apology for bugging him. Clearly, Timmy didn’t mind, but he welcomed the touch anyway, humming as Armie’s lips pressed on his hair. Turning away, Armie opens his phone as he approaches the stove, taking a ladle and stirring absently as he scrolls through his emails. It’s been simmering for hours now, the entire apartment pretty much smelling like tomato sauce. Timmy also made Italian meatballs to go with it, resting now on the sides as they’re still waiting for the sauce to be done before cooking it. 

“Your personal phone has a call.” Timmy says from his creative strip, still working on the bust. 

“Is it Viktor?” Armie asks, putting his other phone down on the counter and covering the pot. 

Timmy stands up to peer on top of his piano where the phone is, then his face falls. He looks hesitantly over to Armie and bites his bottom lip. “It’s your dad.” 

The response is instant; Armie stops walking and recoils, like something disgusting crawled over his feet and the sensation lingered. “Ugh,” he groans, shaking himself. “Get ready for the circus, angel.” He pathetically quips, taking the call and sitting down on the floor next to Timmy’s stool. 

Long, delicate fingers begin stroking on Armie’s hair, comforting as much as it’s offering support. Armie closes his eyes and leans to it. “Yes?” 

“You should bring Chalamet over for Thanksgiving.” Michael said curtly, tone blank but still commanding. 

Armie blinks, his brain failing to categorize how he feels about this sudden invitation. “I’ll ask him?” 

Michael scoffs. “Sure you will,” he responds mockingly. “Your mother will be expecting you two.” 

The call ends there, and Armie just stares at the phone until the screen black out. There is, of course, a flash of anger over his father’s sense of entitlement to literally everybody’s time. More than that though, Armie just feels out of his depth. He knows, logically, that Timmy should meet his parents, but he never really goes out of his way to plan it, mainly because he fucking hates meeting with them. 

Armie snapped out of his train of thought when he felt Timmy stop touching his hair. Clearing his throat, Armie says “Dad wants to have you over for Thanksgiving.” 

Timmy moves his face so his chin rests on his knees, making him look up. “I’m guessing it’s not really up for discussion on your part?” He looks more amused by it than worried, likely because he knows what Michael is like, even if they haven’t met. 

“You know I won’t bring you if you’re not ready. I honestly won’t even blame you; they’re terrible. Besides, it came out of nowhere.” Armie answers, hugging Timmy’s calves together and staring up at him. 

Shaking his head, Timmy resumes with stroking his hair, making him sigh. “No, I’ll go. I’m even more worried about you and Viktor. He wants to fly to Lithuania.” 

Armie laughs. “If you’re serious about going, he might not think it’ll be too bad this year.” 

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Timmy asks, more curious than anxious. “Aside from terrible and all the other synonyms.” He adds, because he knows Armie well enough by now.

“That’s it then,” Armie shrugs, earning himself a light slap on the arm. Catching Timmy’s hand, he kissed it and laced their fingers together. “Mom, I think, would fawn over you. She’s very into the ‘high society’ life, very ostentatious. I have a feeling she’d be delighted to add you to her contacts. That’s not to say she won’t backhand you; she makes malicious comments every other minute. Dad knows your family, or at least implied that he’s aware. Actually, all he said was that he knows you’re old money. I don’t know what to say about him, apart from the fact that he’s a landmine.” 

“What should I bring?” Timmy asks, thinking ahead. “I’d say I have a pretty good familiarity with wine, so that’s an option. I can also make dessert, but you mentioned you have a cook so I’m not sure how well-received that would be.”

Armie gawks at Timmy, stunned with how he’s so casual about potentially spending Thanksgiving with Armie’s tyrannical parents. When Armie was in his shoes, he definitely had a flash of blind panic and a gnawing feeling of inadequacy, and that’s considering that Timmy’s parents are actually good people. 

Timmy blinks at him. “What?” 

“How are you so calm about it?” Armie wonders out loud. “I cried the last time I saw them!” 

“I mean, it’s nerve-wracking, but it’s not here yet, you know?” Timmy replies. “I think I’m treating it like an audition. Maybe I’ll freak out later.” 

They decided to go to the kitchen together from there, the subject slowly dropping until they’re talking about entirely different things. Armie boils the pasta while Timmy takes care of the meatballs, shooting down Armie’s every attempt to slip in a dirty joke. It still made him snort with laughter, irritating Timmy. They ate dinner while taking a jab at each other, teasing thoroughly and doing obnoxious impressions of the other like they’re built for it. By the time they’re done, they’ve equally filled themselves with laughter. Armie loves dinner with Timmy, especially when they stay the night in each other’s place. It tugs at a part of him, making him marvel with just how good he’s had it for the past five months. It was far from smooth and perfect; there’d been a lot of work that was poured into it, but none of it seemed to matter down the road. Armie stares at Timmy as he talks about his new project coming up as they wash the dishes, he watches him dance in the shower and later joining, he listens when he rants about bureaucracy in his workplace as they lay in bed. 

Armie is leaning against the headboard, reading a book, while Timmy is lying on his chest, snuggling into his arm. He’s stroking his hair when Timmy jolts upright. 

“Shit, Thanksgiving is the day after tomorrow?” Timmy nearly shouts, staring at his phone. “That’s - I have twenty-four hours?! What do I bring?” 

Armie sits there, frozen, the hand he used to brush Timmy’s hair still floating in the air. “Your math is wrong.”

Timmy stares him down, unimpressed. 

“Ah, so the freaking out finally hits.”

“Freaking out? Armie, I’m having a _meltdown._ ”

On the night of Thanksgiving, Armie is standing in his office, unsure of what to do when Viktor and Timmy see each other and simultaneously panic. They’re both thrashing around his couch, fixing and redoing their appearance then starting again. Timmy finally got convinced to just settle with bringing wine, but only because he can’t really pull out an important art piece out of thin air on such a short notice. Viktor has asked Armie about a million times in the span of thirty-six hours if he really thinks this is a good idea. The answer is fuck no, it’s a dreadful, frightening idea, _horrendous,_ but there’s no arguing that it is bound to happen.

Tom has been exchanging glances with him as they sit in front, Timmy and Viktor still fussing over themselves. Once, Viktor tried to get them to pull over, he can down some shots and he promised he’ll be ready to go. Timmy got irritated with Armie, who’s minding his own business on the passenger seat, glaring at him for not sitting beside him. He figured to just apologize, if only to preserve the very little peace left in the car, and Tom’s lips twitch in a suppressed smile. 

“That’s an ugly facade,” Timmy is standing in front of the five-storey brownstone townhouse, holding the aged bottle of wine, scowling at the exterior that’s quite frankly not pleasing to the eyes. 

Armie and Viktor are so keyed up that they laughed for five minutes straight, until the front door opened and Tonia ushered them in. Linda is in today, their housekeeper, greeting Armie and Viktor cheerfully. Tom disappeared behind with the gardener, who’s the nephew of his cousin or something. 

“I’m glad you two made it this year,” Tonia said as they walked to the kitchen. “Well, I’m sorry too, but,” she shrugs. 

Viktor picked the grapes and started eating them. “Yeah, I almost flew to Lithuania.” 

“To _where_ now?” Miranda laughs, looking at him. 

“It might come off as a shock but I actually don’t want to show up.” Viktor deadpans, groaning excessively when Tonia swats his hand. 

Armie rounds the kitchen to chill the wine. “Now we’re left to putting a brave face on,” he says regretfully, waving at Viktor to toss a grape, which he caught with his mouth. 

“Quit it, you two. You’re playing with food again.” Tonia pulled the bowl out of Viktor’s grasp, then eyes Timmy. “We have a guest.” 

Timmy only pays them a portion of his attention, more interested in looking at the details of the house, the art pieces hanging on the wall and the themed decor lining the room. “It’s alright, I’m quite used to it now.” He throws a meaningful stare at Armie, who sputters. 

“Don’t be a smartass,” Armie walks to his side, looking at the sculpture that Timmy stopped by momentarily and grimaced. “That’s fucking ugly.” 

“It’s historical.”

“You mean stolen from ancestral lands by white colonizers?” 

Timmy pauses, thinking. “Yes.” 

“That’s disgusting.” Armie says flippantly, then pulls him to introduce. “Tonia, Miranda, this is Timmy, my boyfriend. Timmy, that’s Tonia, our cook, and her daughter, Miranda. She comes by sometimes to help when she’s not away for college.”

Timmy steps forward to offer his hand. Tonia and Miranda were momentarily surprised by the courteousness, then shook it, pleased. "Hi, nice to meet you." 

"Oh you're delightful." Tonia said, sneaking a glance to Armie. 

"One might even wonder why he's putting up with Armie." Viktor quips, finding another thing to munch on. 

"First of all, Timmy would defend me," Armie turns to him, expectant. 

Like a fish out of water, Timmy opens and closes his mouth, taken aback from being thrown on the spot. 

"Wonderful. He's speechless of the man that I am.” Armie takes Timmy by the shoulder and pulls him to his chest. Everyone opened their mouths to protest, and he clapped his hands over Timmy’s ears. “Hush and have some grapes, all of you.” He glares, whisking Timmy out of their reach. 

Tonia looks thoroughly unimpressed yet entertained. “Is this how you got this young man to date you? By being a brat?” 

“Hey, it works out.” Armie is still hugging Timmy to his chest, who’s now shaking in confused laughter. “You’re not allowed to disagree. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

Timmy nods, resigned and amused. “Alright then, if you say so.” 

“Good.” Armie tilts his head to the sound of a door clicking shut, listening to the footsteps and sighing. “Ready to meet my wonderful parents? I promise it’s all fairies and rainbows.” 

Everyone snorted, even Timmy. 

The three of them nearly pushed each other down the stairs on their way to the living room, huddled together like some newly hatched chicks. Viktor kept pushing them up to go first, which was fine until they were halfway up the staircase, then Timmy had a freakout and quickly switched positions with Viktor. He has the upperhand considering his build and practiced grace from dance. Armie tugged them both to take the steps, widening his eyes forcibly at the two because the living room is already coming into view. 

“Mom, dad,” Armie greets, leaving the two behind, which forced them to rush to his side. He finds his father standing by the window, leaning against it by the elbow, while his mother is sitting on an armchair, legs crossed. 

“Have you been here long?” Dru opens her arms, and Armie dutifully kisses her cheek, followed shortly by Viktor. 

Viktor cleared his throat. “No, uh, we were just talking downstairs.” 

“You two spend so much time with the servants.” Dru remarks dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Who’s this young man?” 

Armie closed his eyes to take a deep breath, cursing internally but not daring to glance at his father. He _obviously_ did not talk to Dru about it, blindsiding her again. “This is Timmy. He’s my boyfriend.” 

Dru’s brow shots up. “Does he know about the one you recently took to France?” She asks, not even bothering to look at Timmy. 

“It’s the same person.” 

“But it’s been, what, two months?” 

Armie sighs, shrugging. “We’ve been dating a while now.” 

Maddeningly, Dru is still refusing to acknowledge Timmy directly. “So you thought it’s time to bring him to meet the parents?” 

“Actually, dad invited him over. He said you’ll be expecting him.” Armie almost never pulls the rug under his father, almost always takes the brunt of the hit for his manipulations, but he’s really at the ends of his patience tonight, and the shock on his mother’s face is enough consolation. 

It took her a full second to recover from realizing she’s the only one clueless in the room. “Oh,” she breathes out, looking at Michael from the corner of her eyes and forcing a small smile. “Well, busy week.” She finally stands up. 

Michael stares at Armie blankly, his face giving nothing away as he walks over to them. “He’s Marc Chalamet’s son.” 

The information got Dru’s attention, finally turning towards Timmy. “What did you say your name was?” 

“Timothée Chalamet.” Despite the blatant display of rudeness, Timmy still manages a polite smile, extending his hand forward. 

“And what do you do?” Dru barely shakes Timmy’s hand, but at least she took the offer. 

“Visual artist, musical director, classical pianist.” Timmy answers. 

Dru smiles, and Armie knows it meant that she’s marking Timmy in her head as a potential asset in her wealthy circle. “Very nice. Posh. A graduate?” 

Timmy smiles back, courteous as always. “Juilliard.” 

“Any good?” 

“Very good. Top of my _batch._ ” 

The implication was clear: It wasn’t just his class, or in his program, it was the entire population of graduates at that time. The boldness made Armie smile. No matter what anyone says about Timmy, he _does_ know how to play his cards, and he plays it well. 

It’s not such a surprise anymore that Dru looks sold. “My, my, I like you already.” When she threw a look at Michael, it occurred to Armie that she said it only to push his buttons. 

Another game for them both. 

“Good for you,” Michael replies, with not an ounce of care but brownie points for him for answering. “Did you know that your father and I had a row?” 

_Oh, so that’s why,_ Armie thinks, finally realizing that Dru is verbally welcoming Timmy just so she can indirectly antagonize him by siding with the opposition’s son. 

“I’m afraid not.” Timmy responds carefully, looking at Armie. “My father never mentioned it.” 

Michael shrugged, and Armie wanted to tackle him to the ground and drag him to his office and lock him there. “It was a while back anyway. When he’s working for the UN. Does he still?” 

Armie doesn’t doubt it that his father already knows. He’s just using Timmy’s confirmation to leverage his point. 

“Ah, pity.” Michael shifts his gaze to Armie with a worried downturn of his lips, but his eyes are challenging. “International affairs, wasn’t it? He intercepted the company’s operation on oil in three parts of the world, and then started a probe on us. We settled it, thankfully, but who’s to say the case won’t open again?” 

Timmy is just frozen in shock. Armie hears Viktor take a sharp breath, holding it before blowing it out shakily. Michael is setting up Timmy to assure them that it won’t happen; had Armie bring him over as his boyfriend so he can pressure him to lay off of his boyfriend’s family business. It would’ve made Armie blow over, except that Marc Chalamet had openly acknowledged that he knew of Armie’s attempts on building alternatives to the harmful industry. Not that Michael knows that, but it’s not like this night can get any worse. 

“Actually,” Armie feels all heads whip to face him when he speaks. “I’ve been exploring more sustainable ways of production, using my own money, of course. It’s been on very successful test-runs now. I’m sure I’ll manage to up its scale to the industry soon.” 

Michael’s eye twitches, and it’s the most genuine emotion Armie has ever seen on his father’s face. Dru obviously couldn't care less for the environment - she takes private jets back and forth _regularly_ \- but she’s happy to see her husband backhanded. 

“That’s so wonderful, Armie. You make your father and I _very_ proud.” The inclusion of Michael is a brilliant touch, and Armie would’ve howled in laughter. Viktor snorted though, hiding it behind a cough. “Come on now, darling. Let’s lead them to our dining.” Dru holds her hand out to Michael, and for reputation’s sake he smiles at her and plays along. 

When they disappeared on the bend of the staircase, Armie, Timmy and Viktor paused to exchange glances, then went red on the face while they tried to hold back their laughter. 

Thanksgiving dinner was good, but only because Dru and Michael didn’t have a hand on preparing it. Dru milked the evening for what it’s worth, talking to Timmy about his education, his profession, his family, his family history. The more it goes on, the more it appears that Dru is invested in keeping him around as an accessory to her wealth. Michael just endures it, eating his salad like it would save his spiking blood pressure. He could’ve gotten a divorce, but Armie supposes that salad is easier to swallow than pride. Timmy is on edge, but he works well under pressure, and though seeing his professional side is kind of hot, Armie still prefers to have him relaxed. 

The dessert passed Timmy’s standards, looking up subtly at Armie and bobbing his head in approval. They exchanged sneaky smiles, their shoes touching under the table. By the end of dinner, Dru has drunk the most from the bottle of wine that Timmy brought, singing praises for his exquisite taste. Michael is never really out of bombs to drop, so Armie remains on the edge of his seat even if his father isn’t really giving indications of wanting to take a jab at them. Viktor is so jumpy that he’s the last to finish his plate, always snapping his head to whoever had the guts to speak on the dinner table. 

Dru waved their staff to clear the table, flagging Linda to accompany her to the bedroom so she can take her medication. Viktor got put on the spot for some deal he’s still not closing until now, and Michael looks like he’d burn a hole to the ground and dispose of his son in it. Thinking the better of it, Michael gestured upstairs, taking Viktor with him, who’s glancing behind them in panic. 

“So your Thanksgiving is like Ellen’s yearly ‘Andy in the Horror House’ episodes.” Timmy remarks, leaning against the bar as they’re left on the ground floor while everyone takes care of their business. 

“Yeah, and just like Ellen; mean in person.” Armie agrees, pouring himself some bourbon then eats an oreo with it. 

Timmy watches him, distraught by his life choices. “What are you doing?” 

“Stress-eating but like an adult.” Armie just continues with his bizarre pairing, unbothered. “Just stare at the ceiling or something.” 

“It’s like a slow-mo trainwreck. I can’t look away.” Timmy replies, still gaping at him. 

“You should try it.” 

“I don’t like bourbons.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t offer. It’s not like you’re not going to catch this mouth later, anyway.” 

Timmy just stared at him like he’s so tired. 

“Pour me some, will you?” Michael is descending the stairs, his tone definitely not a request. 

Armie has the response so ingrained in him that he’s halfway through pouring when he realized he’s doing it. Sighing, he just took the glass and gave it to his father as he approached them on the bar. “Where’s Viktor?” 

“Cleaning up his mess,” Michael waves upstairs. “I got a call from one of the executives before you arrived. I told him I’ll call him back, and I did. Viktor’s now dealing with him.” 

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Armie said, incredulous. 

“It’s a British company.” Michael tips his glass back, asking for another. “Won’t you have some, Timothée?” 

Timmy accepts the glass so fast. Armie glared, betrayed, but he only received a helpless shrug. 

“Tell me your age.” Michael sips his drink, then eyes Armie when he sees the oreos.

Despite swearing off bourbon, Timmy still takes a gulp, preparing himself for the conversation. “I’m twenty-four.”

“When did you say you two have begun dating?” Michael asked, sitting on the stool and looking at them. 

“July,” Armie answers, at the exact same time that Timmy says “June.” He flinched so hard he spilled a bit of bourbon between his index finger and thumb. 

Michael stared. “Wow,” he drawls out. 

“We started dating in July.” Armie whispers under his breath, even though it’s useless since Michael would hear them anyway. 

Timmy closed his eyes, irked but embarrassed. “We were introduced through a _date._ In _June._ ”

“Alright, June.” Nodding, Armie repeats the decision to his father. 

“And he says I’m bad at math.” Timmy murmurs, clearly just a passing comment. 

Armie addressed it anyway. “I didn’t say you’re bad at math. I said your math at that time was wrong.” 

“So you’re good at it?” Michael asks curiously, effectively putting a stop to their bickering. 

“I - uh, no.” When Armie heard Timmy’s answers, a small whimper escaped his throat as he held in his laugh. Timmy would smack him if he could. 

Michael scoffed into his drink, mildly amused. “And it’s serious between the two of you?” 

The laughter Armie contained is now replaced by rising bile in his throat as he remembers the conversation. Timmy answers for them. 

“Yes, it is.” He confirms, steadfast. 

Michael didn’t hide the fact that he’s pleased that Timmy is engaging his prying. “Happily?” 

Timmy nods his head in confirmation before he speaks. “Very,” 

“Is this the kind where you’re already accounting each other in your future?” Before Armie can burst out, Michael motions him for a refill. 

It’s hard to shake off a lifetime of conditioning. “Yes,” he answers. 

“I’m more interested to hear Timothée. He is, after all, just twenty-four.” Michael nods off to Timmy, prompting him to answer. 

“My answer is the same.” Timmy is gutsy, that much Armie knows about his boyfriend, but it’s different when he sees him face his father head-on. 

“Give me a scale.” Michael challenged, leaning back on his stool that Armie wants to kick. 

Timmy didn’t even pause to think. “I’ll be the happiest if this relationship is our last.” 

Armie knows, in his core, that this is how he feels. He never dared to say it out loud though, in consideration of the fact that Timmy is nine years younger than him, with so much more laid out in front of him, with so much more he could experience for his growth. Armie swears to himself that he would be the last thing to come between Timmy and his ambitions, so even if he’s dating to get there _someday,_ he never, ever thought that Timmy might’ve looked far down the road too. He’d never dare to hope, because it’s unfair, but Armie is ready to get on his knees and thank whoever’s in charge that Timmy feels just the same. 

“Big words,” Michael considers Timmy for a moment. “You two are pretty sure of each other.” 

“Hold up, we’re going in circles. We established that already.” Armie is impatient to escape this conversation. He wants to take Timmy away, ask him if he’s serious, beg him to reconsider his words, discuss it thoroughly, make sure he knows that all the doors are open if he wants to take it, no matter how much that would break Armie. 

“It bears repeating.” Michael replies nonchalantly. 

Everything is getting under Armie’s skin now. “Not if it’s your opinion on relationships then no, it bears _nothing._ ” 

“And that is?” Michael urges, though it’s obvious they both know what he’s referring to. 

“That it’s bound to fail, no matter what.” The words are ashes on his tongue, but Armie forced it out anyway. 

“I didn’t say that.” Michael downs his drink. “Only time will tell.” He clarifies. 

Armie narrows his eyes but calms himself, feeling Timmy’s hand on his arm. “What are you getting at?” 

“No one is stopping you, despite what you think.” Gaslighting, a classic in their household. “Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t.” 

“You’re saying I’ll end up like _you._ ” Armie meant him and Timmy, but he can’t bear to drag Timmy in it. 

“Armand, you grew up despising me and your mother far too much for you to forsake yourself to the same fate.” Michael said it so casually like they’re chatting about the weather. “I even will say in good confidence that you will be the first one to turn away from a relationship if it’s turning out like mine. You did so with Elizabeth.” 

“It’s different. We both loved each other, but we were _young,_ and then everyone wanted a hand on our relationship and then took the wheel.” Armie protested furiously, not having it with how his father brought up Liz. 

Meaningfully, Michael spreads his arms out, as if indicating himself. “Our only difference is you walked away from it. I stayed.” 

Even Timmy had a hard time digesting the information, his breath getting shallow beside Armie. 

“I don’t fucking know what you want from us.” Armie breathes out, his sanity on very thin ice the more he talks with his father. 

Michael only shrugged. “Well, Armand, for starters, I want an heir.” He waves a finger between the two of them. “If you do end up together for good, fine. But I want an heir. Timothée? Are you listening?” 

Timmy shakes himself to respond. “Yeah - uh, yes.” 

Michael eyed him sternly then continued. “I’m far too old to be dealing with crap like this. I just want to ensure the continuity of our family. I don’t care how the two of you would do it. Figure it out.” 

With that, Michael slides his glass on the bar and gets off his stool, leaving the two of them stunned out of their wits. Because their family is a well-coordinated reality show, Viktor almost ran into their father on the stairs in his haste to descend. 

“Uh, hi,” Viktor awkwardly says. 

“What ‘hi’ are you saying, boy?” Michael barks out. 

Viktor scrambles to explain. “I’ll meet them next week. The deal can be closed when I fly out.” 

“Good.” Michael goes past him and up the stairs. 

“Fuck, Armie you - oh wow. What happened here?” Viktor approached them tentatively, noting how astounded they were as they stood by the bar. “Dad did a number on you, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Armie nods, gripping Timmy by the shoulder and shaking him lightly. “You too?” 

Viktor sighs, turning to Timmy. “Guess what? I’m fucking leaving for _Lithuania_ after all!” 

“Well, now I have to figure out how to give birth!” Timmy bursts out, almost hysterically. 

Armie hides his face on his forearms crossed on top of the bar, his body shaking somewhere in between crying and laughing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to say this but no mpreg in this fic thank you. Maybe in another, but not this.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just received my grades today! Yay! I am also: done with writing tense or borderline stressful stuff in this fic. Here, have a fluff fest, as promised. Love you all for your comments 🥺💓

Timmy turns out to be a huge Christmas person. The moment it was reasonable to start putting up decorations, he pulled out this massive box and dedicated an entire afternoon to transforming his apartment to fit the festive season. Naturally, Armie told him to do it on his day off so he could help. He’s never really been big into a lot of family holidays, provided the one he has, so when he got older he just found ways to waste away during those times or escape his family or both. He’s even a tad bit shocked to admit that he actually cannot recall if he ever put up Christmas decorations because he wanted to. Timmy wouldn’t miss it for the world, and the happiness in his eyes when Armie said he’d give his day off for it already made that Christmas one of the most memorable he’ll have. 

“Do you come home for Christmas?” Timmy asks absently, looping a garland and handing it over to Armie. 

“Only if I don’t come up with a reason not to.” Armie answers, hanging them where Timmy instructed. So far, his sole purpose is to reach the places that Timmy can’t. 

Timmy stops, confused. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, during college, I can’t really say no, because they’re already staying at the brownstone then instead of L.A. The transition to grad school, I managed because I was allowed to let loose.” Armie stops to grin when Timmy gives him a teasing look. “Grad school, same reason as undergrad. The years from there, I honestly don’t know. Sometimes I do end up there, but they have people over a lot of the time anyway.” 

Timmy considers this, looking around. He looked unsure for a moment, then decided to just go through with it. “My family’s staying over until after New Year. Also for my birthday.” He looks down on the fake flowers on his hands. “If you want, you can stay over for the holidays?” 

Warmth bursts in Armie’s chest, his stomach filling with butterflies as he hears the request. Still, he couldn’t help to drag the moment. “Are you inviting me or..?” 

“I’m inviting you,” Timmy cuts him off quickly, throwing the decor to the floor. His arms stretch out, motioning Armie to come down the ladder steps. 

Carefully, Armie grips on the sides until he’s near enough to the floor, then just jumps. Timmy is instantly in his arms, hugging him. “Does your family know?” 

“They asked the last time they called, and urged me to invite you. I was hesitant but,” he shrugs, digging his chin on Armie’s sternum. 

Armie brushes his hair away from his face, staring down fondly. “Will they be here?” Armie asks, though his answer is clear with the way he’s smiling. 

“They actually have a house at the Upper West; maman’s property. A three-storey house that she snagged for herself during her stint as a real estate agent. We can come over for Christmas dinner and then my birthday. New Year’s eve is also in their house.” Timmy explains, looking up to Armie expectantly. 

The flat only has one guest bedroom, so it makes sense that the family would have to split for the holidays. “You’re not moving to their house? I mean, I’m not complaining As long as they don’t think I’m taking you away, then I’ll be happy to.” Armie responds, pecking on Timmy’s lips. 

“Nope, not at all.” Timmy shakes his head, making his curls sway with the movement. “They came up with ‘making themselves scarce’ so we can enjoy Christmas together.”

If Armie still wasn’t convinced that he would do literally anything for Timmy’s family, then this should do it. He’s over the moon with the acceptance and consideration, at the same time grateful for the trust. “I should pack my bags then.” 

It was Timmy’s turn to be pleasantly surprised. “What?” 

“I’ll move here temporarily for the holidays.” Armie answers nonchalantly. 

Timmy breathes out a laugh, giddy with the idea. “That sounds good.” 

“Does it?” Armie leans down to Timmy’s face, hovering over his lips and maintaining eye contact.

“Yeah,” Timmy’s eyes are already getting heavier as they stare back at Armie. “I might even insist on sealing the deal.” 

Armie’s brow shoots up to his forehead, excited by the idea. “By all means, please.” 

Smirking, Timmy just cranes his neck, not catching Armie’s mouth but taking his tongue out, the back of it flat over his bottom lip and the tip reaching his chin. Getting rapidly turned on, Armie grips Timmy’s jaw to force his mouth open, the dives with his tongue right into the open mouth, kissing Timmy so obscenely that he moans. Every sound he manages to force out of Timmy makes him hum, his fingers going up to thread through his curls then tugs harshly but releases them instantly. Timmy arched into him, his dick hard and brushing against Armie’s thigh. 

“Want something to be done about that?” Armie asks as he teases Timmy’s back by running feather-light touches up and down his spine. 

To his surprise, Timmy shakes his head adamantly. “I want to blow you.” He says, like it’s a challenge. 

Armie grins and steals one more kiss before he allows Timmy to move to his knees, tugging his sweatpants and taking his dick out. His lips immediately wraps around the head, suckling, then licks down the shafts before returning to the head. His hand moves to the bases, pumping and squeezing as he sucks, his other hand catching his balls on his palm and massaging them. Lost to the feeling, Armie groans and grips on the ladder behind him with one hand, the other brushing Timmy’s hair away from his face, making him look up. Teasing, he takes his mouth off momentarily, his hand deftly going up and down the length of Armie’s cock then puts his mouth back, swallowing deeper and deeper. 

“Shit, ah,  _ ah,  _ angel - fuck!” Armie shivers so hard at a particular deepthroat that his knees buckle with it. “Let’s move to the couch. I want to fuck you.” 

When he got Timmy on his feet, Armie took him by the nape and brought their mouths together, their tongues pushing past each other as they walked to the couch. The back of Timmy’s knees hit the edge of the cushion, sending him backwards to fall. Armie lets him, releasing Timmy from his grip and watching him flop on the couch. Armie stands there, pushing his sweatpants until they completely come off and then takes his sweater off. Slowly, he gets on his knees and spreads Timmy’s legs, who takes the hint and begins to wriggle out of his own clothes. 

Timmy reaches for the lube and condoms on the bedside table, then groans when he sees the couch. “We can’t fuck here, unless you’re willing to fetch a towel.” 

Right. Timmy’s couch is velvet, and they can’t sweat on it while having sex just in time for his parents to come over. “I’ll fuck you against your piano.” Armie said, not really thinking much into it. They’ll probably have sex on the floor.

Instead, Timmy flushes all over, bright red and hot, and he looks over the back of the couch, then to Armie. “I - well,” he sighs. “Alright.” 

Armie needed a moment to process that before he jumped to his feet, putting his hands on Timmy’s slim hips as they walked to the opposite end of the piano. He bends over, his arms stretched on top of the cover, and Armie sinks down on the floor again, parting his ass cheeks and rimming him. He adds his fingers along with his tongue as he breached the hole, while Timmy whimpers loudly, clutching desperately so he doesn’t slide down. Uncapping the lube, Armie retracts his fingers and rolls the condom with another, then coats the rest of the way all the while keeping his face buried in Timmy’s ass. 

Rising to his feet, Armie rubs the tip of his dick on the hole. “Ready?” He asks, sliding just the head. 

“Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me,” Timmy pants out, rolling his hips to get the cock to push it, his hand jerking himself off. 

Steadying him by the pelvis, Armie wraps an arm around Timmy’s lower abdomen to pull him snug on his groin, sheathing all the way in and pounding him hard. The pace was fast and brutal, making Timmy howl and shout, his fingers dangerously curling on the piano that Armie is slightly concerned that he’ll scratch it. 

The arm he’s using to hold on Timmy’s stomach moves up to lay a palm flat on his chest, while he moves another to cup on Timmy’s neck. With this grip, Armie forces Timmy up, his back on his chest, fucking him standing and saving the piano. Timmy still looks lost on it, all the more why Armie is keeping as much reason in his head, or else they’d long thrashed both of their apartments long ago. 

“Go on, angel, keep touching yourself.” Armie whispers to his ear, nibbling on the curve of the shell and licking behind it. 

Complying, Timmy increases the pace that he’s jacking himself off with, then turns his head, all his hair getting in the way, and opens his mouth to Armie. Not willing to let go of his neck, Armie just noses past the curls until he finds Timmy’s waiting mouth, their tongues meeting right away as they make out. 

When Timmy’s breath sounds like it’s merely punched out of him, Armie thrusts his hips harsher and increased his grip on his neck, just the tiniest bit of pressure, and Timmy helplessly rolled his head back, orgasm hitting him as his come shoots up to his stomach. Pleased, Armie just keeps him upright from there so he could chase his own release, following suit and coming with a grunt. 

“I can’t believe we fucked against my piano.” Timmy is on the floor, his knees giving out below him as he sits on his calves. 

Armie snorts, returning to his side with a damp cloth and wiping him clean. “In my defense, I didn’t think you’d agree.” 

Timmy sighs, leaning against his chest as the towel scrubs the come, lube and sweat all over his skin. “Hmm,” he hums sleepily. “You think we can put off the decors and nap?” 

“Angel, by now you should know I’d let you do anything you want.” Armie says fondly, kissing the top of his head and carrying him to the couch, snuggling until they doze off. 

*******

Armie insisted on lending a larger company vehicle that would fit him, Timmy and his family along with their luggage for when they picked them up at the airport. It’s somewhat a more discreet limousine, but obviously still a luxury vehicle. Timmy protested time and time again that they can rent cabs like they always do, but Armie wouldn’t budge, citing the fact that it’s one of the few ways he can repay their hospitality. Nothing could really be done no matter how Timmy said it’s not necessary, so he just settled to being grateful. 

To nobody’s surprise, his family rejoiced in seeing Armie again, even more when they found out he’s joining them for the holidays. Pauline threw him a knowing look, which Timmy returned with fake innocence. Collectively, it was a pretty great year for their family. No wonder they’re pulling the family together. 

Nicole’s three-storey townhouse is more on the modern side than their classic countryside manor in France. It has a sleek, matt black metal and polished wood accents on the facade, and massive floor to ceiling windows on the side. Armie didn’t spare a moment to stare at the house, but Timmy bets he already has a calculation of how much this property is worth now, considering the location plus increase over the years. He’s annoyingly good with numbers, whatever. 

“Oh dear,” Nicole gasps, reaching for her husband. “This is going to be a lot of work to clean up.” 

Pauline is already stripping out of her coat and hat with a sigh. “Yeah, tough luck. We should’ve made you call for cleaning beforehand.” She tells Timmy, who just nods his head as he swipes his finger on the dusted drawer by the door. 

“Still a couple of days, anyway.” Marc says casually. “We can just clean up now and decorate tomorrow.” 

When his family got down to cleaning the house, Armie didn’t even bat an eye and helped without being told to. It was obvious that he lived by himself and without help long enough that he knew how to clean properly, even in his shirt rolled up and work slacks, no less. There’s nothing in the pantry, so cooking is not an option. None of them wanted to move a limb to go out for dinner, so Timmy decided to call for delivery. He argued with Pauline for the flavor and settled with each of what they wanted, but in smaller sizes, and then he bickered with Armie for wanting sweets again. Basically, ordering was a whole chaotic affair. It screams Christmas. Timmy absolutely loves it. 

The following day, Timmy was unnecessarily threatened by Pauline to help them decorate. Of course, he loves to help, she literally has no reason to be so aggressive about it, but Timmy supposed that their mom probably went overboard with shopping and they now have way too much. 

It was exactly the case when Timmy arrived, staring at the boxes of decorations. Even Armie is stunned, and he thought Timmy is already big on Christmas. Neither of them said a thing though, and simply did what they can to bring the house into the holiday spirit. 

“This is going to be hell to clean up.” Pauline is chugging wine throughout the night, dumbfounded with the amount of decors and exhausted from putting them up. “You didn’t have to come by and help. They already like you. This one right here is already bad enough, I bet he made you put garlands where he can’t reach.” 

Armie just laughs goodnaturedly. “Nah, I wanted to.” 

Pauline grimaced and looked at Timmy. “What?” 

“That’s how you answer when you don’t want to receive coal.” Timmy says proudly. 

“God, Armie. You let this kid have you by the short and curlies?” 

“Yup.” 

*******

When Christmas Eve came, Armie had a passing thought, wondering if this is how it was supposed to be celebrated in a wholesome and loving family. He remembers that he spent one Christmas with Liz when they were together, then another shortly after breaking up, but that was really uncomfortable because of all the pressure to get married both times. There was another time when he was going out with Rachel, because she’s the daughter of a partner and his father practically threw him to their house to improve their relationship or something. That one felt more like a business meeting than an actual holiday. The third time made Armie swear it off altogether, because he was dating this guy named Luke, who he liked enough to agree spending the holidays with, and it was  _ good. _ He’s raised by a single mom, along with two siblings, and they all came back around to give their mom a pretty good retirement. They were a family, joking with each other and had intimate knowledge of their quirks and preferences. Michael asked Armie then, the infamous question of whether or not he should be worried. Armie didn’t even make it to Valentine’s before he broke things off with him. 

So he really swears it off, primarily because it  _ is _ a very important holiday. Armie doesn’t want to make himself a part of something so memorable if it’s not even within him to stick around. He didn’t mind, obviously with Liz and Rachel, but he couldn’t bear the guilt after Luke. 

It all just adds to Armie’s astonishment now, as he eats dinner with Timmy’s family and spends Christmas Eve with them, that  _ this _ is how he wants it. There’s not an ounce of fright or hesitation in his body as he interacted with them. In fact, Armie makes an effort to include himself in, playing along with their family traditions, joking around, exchanging stories, teasing each other. There’s no place he’d rather be. 

“No freakouts yet?” Armie feels Timmy’s arms wrap around his neck, hugging him from behind over the back of the couch. 

Craning his neck, Armie kisses him soundly and then another on the tip of his nose. “None at all.” He answers resolutely. 

Timmy smiles, nuzzling their faces together. “Why is that?” 

“I love you, is all,” Armie makes room on his side and taps the space. Timmy hops over the couch and sits close, snuggling into his chest immediately. “I love spending time with your family, too.” He tells Timmy as they cuddle on the couch.

“They love you, too.” Timmy says and closes his eyes as he holds Armie’s hands to his chest. “I love you more, though.” He adds absently. 

Armie tugs at their joined hands playfully. “Are you napping in the middle of Christmas Eve?” He teased but didn’t make an effort to move. “Your parents would be appalled.” 

“I’m so full from dinner.” Timmy grumbles. 

Armie sees Pauline set up the most intricate monopoly game he’s ever seen. Of course a family tradition has to include an activity that will turn everyone against each other. “Pauline is almost done with the board game.” 

“We should pair.” Timmy opens his eyes finally, but only to look up the ceiling as he schemes. “She’s hyper competitive for some reasons. I don’t really care much for winning more than I care about sabotaging her along the way.” 

Laughing, Armie imagines Pauline throwing a fit while Timmy simply snorts at her outbursts. “I cannot believe you’re making me an accessory to the crime on my first holiday with your family.” 

“You can’t say it’s a bad idea, though.” Timmy shifts a bit so he can look up at Armie. 

“It’s not,” Armie concedes, helpless when Timmy throws him that mischievous smile. “Although, I think I’ll have to burst your bubble. There are enough markers for all five of us.” 

Timmy huffs, preparing to protest, but Pauline’s call cuts through the living room. 

“Everyone better get here as gingerly as they can.” Pauline announces, standing up to glance at everyone scattered around the room. “You two, stop cuddling.  _ Timothée, I swear to God if you sabotage me still for this year I will poison your eggnog. _ Papa, maman, monopoly time.  _ Are we going to do our best? It’s Armand’s first Christmas with us. _ ” 

Armie is still hopeless with French, but he has a good read on them enough to tell what’s going on. Besides, Pauline is much like Timmy. “You’re ganging up on me already?” 

Pushing himself up then pulling at Armie, Timmy snorts and waves a finger at Pauline. “ _ You act like you play well. _ Anyway, you’re the capitalist in this room, you’ll live.” 

Armie grimaced at that, but still follows to the board game where everyone is gathering at. 

“I hope you’re ready for more fighting between these two.” Nicole looks up to Armie meaningfully. “They quite like getting on each other’s nerves.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes, facing them as he kneels on the floor beside Pauline. “Maman, if only you know how much Armie gets on  _ my _ nerves you will not be warning him like that.” 

“Excuse me, I have been nothing but good to you.” Armie puts a hand on his hip, chuckling already even if the banter hasn’t started. 

Timmy scoffs at him, his eyes equally amused. “Your definition of good is dubious.” 

“Remember when I ran all the way to Juilliard?” 

“Remember when I took the fifteen kilogram duffel up the stairs?” 

They stared at each other, their chins jutting out as they dared one another to say one more detail about their errands, but thankfully came to an agreement. They would never dare say them; all are paid with sex. Not family friendly, even in the slightest. 

“Truce.” Armie prompts at Timmy, grinning. 

Timmy doesn’t look appeased, but takes it anyway. “Truce.”

The room only had one second of peace. Armie couldn’t resist the chance and had to get back to it. 

“Twenty-five pounds isn’t fifteen kilograms though. It’s eleven. Your math is wrong.”

“You belong on the streets.” 

*******

The preparation for Christmas Eve had nothing on the night itself. Timmy had this impression that it’s the journey that would weigh more, and the end of it would just signify the completion. How wrong he was on that. Christmas Eve with his family and Armie had him over the clouds; his heart brimming with happiness as their sweaters became progressively uglier throughout the night. Nicole found these blank Christmas sweaters that are very scratchy many years back, and they came with a bunch of themed cloth stickers, from letterings to reindeers and gingerbread man. The point is, it’s like building your ugly sweater, except that all the stickers are in a basket, and anyone who gets voted for any random offense gets a sticker on their sweater. 

So far, Pauline has the most, from ignoring a request to fold the napkins to complaining for having too many stickers. A lot of the ones on Armie’s are instigated by Timmy, just because. Marc has the least, because he knows to get out of everybody’s way when things are getting out of hand. Nicole has a few, and a lot of it she earned from genuinely forgetting stuff. 

There’s absolutely nothing like having Armie among his family, doing  _ their _ traditions. Now, they’re playing monopoly, and only Timmy can really tell that Armie isn’t putting too much into it, always careless with his bets, throwing money here and there. Timmy can only  _ tell,  _ but he doesn’t know why. The first round got Armie on the bottom of the list, for which Pauline teased him for because he appears like a terrible capitalist. Timmy didn’t say anything though, more interested in seeing how their game would play out. Maybe Armie is planning something, maybe he’s just letting them win. 

“Armie, are you sure you’re not just going easy on us?” Marc teases as Armie loses more assets. 

Armie just shrugs but gives nothing away with the way he smiles. “It’s just a game.” 

“You must play.” Marc prompts, eyeing the rundown state of Armie’s side. 

When Armie smirks, Timmy sighed loudly. “If you insist.” 

Armie won every single round from there. The entire family voted for him to receive a bunch of ugly stickers. 

It was already past ten and they’ve been together the entire day, but still unwilling to part. Timmy is already considering staying over, but his dad urged them to go. It’ll be their first Christmas together. They’ll drive back tomorrow anyway. So they huddled together by the fireplace to take a picture, some sort of a final tally of who’s the naughtiest on Christmas Eve based on the amount of stickers. For three consecutive years now, it’s been Pauline. 

Armie only had one mug of eggnog, and one glass of wine early into the night, and only because he already accepted them before he could say a thing. If it was up to him, he won’t drink at all. Maybe it’s because Timmy is still stupidly young, but he’s always in awe with how inherently responsible Armie is. He’s driving them back to the apartment, since Tom is given the entire holiday season off, every year since his employment. Timmy somehow understands now why Armie drove like a motherfucker; New York is a goddamn jungle. 

“How’s that for a Christmas Eve?” Timmy asks as they hang their coats, arriving finally at his apartment. 

Armie turns to him, solemn and profoundly happy. “The best one I had.” 

Timmy can already see it on his face, but of course it’s different to hear it. “I’m glad,” he whispers, standing face to face with him. 

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. Have I told you that?” Armie is cradling his face, so breathtakingly intimate as he brushes his thumb across his cheekbones. 

Nothing is even initiated yet, but Timmy is already about to melt. “Only twice a day, everyday,” he answers smartly. 

Armie smiles widely now. “You are,” he repeats. “I love you so damn much.” 

Timmy is helpless to the gentle tug on his chin and he surges forward, locking his arms around Armie’s neck and locking their lips together. Armie just catches him, opening their mouths sensually and letting their tongues touch, while his hand is still painfully delicate on Timmy’s cheek, the other clutching him at the waist. 

More than any other, Timmy loves them like this. They’re still kissing tenderly as they walk to the bedroom, each article of clothing getting dropped listlessly along the way. He loves them the most like this, naked and tangled in the sheets, with no words exchanged between them but their moans to express their pleasure, their emotions. Timmy knows that no matter how mindblowing their sex is, it’s never going to come close when they find that moment of passion, much like now. There’s nothing like them worshipping each other in their bed, kissing with devotion, touching with reverence. Timmy spreads his legs and accepts Armie as he enters him, his head falling back as he arches off the sheets, overwhelmed by the feeling of being one as they move, thrust and take. The burst of love and adoration is perplexing yet to be expected, if it’s between them whose sole dedication is each other. They gasp in between kisses, knowing that each feelings and sensations are felt and returned. Something about them together like this makes Timmy certain that they are one and the same; that what he feels are Armie’s and Armie feels him equally, that their thoughts are each other’s and their loves speak the same volume. It’s  _ sublime. _

Idly, Timmy wonders if there’s still a bit of intimacy held back by the thin material of the condom, but then Armie pushes one last time and it drives them simultaneously on edge. It doesn’t matter, he decides. They’ll get there when they do. 

“I love you.” Timmy says, tracing his finger lightly over the bow of Armie’s lip. It’s delightful to feel it move into a smile as he hears the words. 

Armie turns to his side, and takes a moment to just stare, get his fill of the way Timmy looks as he comes down from the high of it all. Timmy allows him, encourages it, even. It made Armie smile wider. “I love you, too.” He finally says. 

When morning came, Timmy felt a rush of wonder that the intoxicating intimacy they shared that night hasn’t completely ebb away. There are soft kisses peppering the side of his face, and he turns his face higher, feels the mouth descend on him just as his lips are spreading into a smile. 

“Merry Christmas, angel.” Armie said softly, then pressed a kiss on his forehead. 

Timmy would keep his eyes close to relish the feeling, but he’s overcome with the desire to see Armie, too. “Merry Christmas,” he returns, their eyes fixed instantly on one another. 

Just like that, Armie climbs on top of him, kissing him again before going down until his mouth is on Timmy’s cock. They’re already hard well into the morning, oversensitive too from just waking up. Armie bobs his head enthusiastically on the length, bringing him to orgasm like that, and swallows around the head as it remains buried in his throat. When Armie finally lets up and is kneeling on the bed, Timmy goes up and on his stomach. He reaches forward to guide Armie’s dick in his mouth, letting himself drool until the base before sucking. His hand grips again on the base, moving simultaneously as he suckles, and Armie is just as on edge as he was, coming with a loud growl. 

Once they regained feelings in their legs, they just slipped on some boxers and went to the bathroom to take care of their needs and hygiene. If they exchanged gifts in their boxers, that’s their business. Timmy got Armie a bunch of clothes to bring some life into his decidedly dim and monochromatic wardrobe. Armie just teased him to dress him all the time and he snorted. That’s not even a task at all. In return, Timmy got a box of accessories; necklaces and rings and bracelets that are very characteristic of his style, and the attention to detail made him laugh giddily. 

They made breakfast together, still extremely dressed down because it’s their space anyway. Timmy indulged them both with crafted coffee, ridiculously sweet and just in time for Christmas. Armie is pretty reliable with breakfast food anyway, so he leaves him to take care of it. 

“What are you planning for your birthday?” Armie asks, hands wrapped around his mug and sighing nearly at every long sip. 

Timmy swallows his food and thinks. “They said they’ll take care of it, so I’m guessing probably just like yesterday but the theme is my birthday. Besides, nothing much to do really, and I’m used to it since it’s the middle of the holidays.” 

Armie considers this as he sets his drink down. “You don’t have anything in mind?” 

Timmy scrunches his nose. “I would prefer to stay-in, actually.” He watches as Armie nods, taking this in. “I’m finally cut-off my trust fund at twenty-five, too.” He shrugs. 

“You’re doing pretty good on your own.” Armie remarks, pride evident from the way he speaks. It still made him blush. “You know you are,” he teased, poking Timmy’s calf with his toe. 

“Stop,” Timmy giggles, pushing Armie’s foot away with his own. “I wanted to stay-in to discuss with maman. I’m thinking of moving out of this place.” 

Obviously, the decision shocked Armie. “Oh? Why is that?” 

“Well, because I just got it, right? And I don’t know. I think I just want to break in or something.” Timmy shrugs, clearly not very decided yet but it’s definitely in his mind. “Get a place for myself just so I can say I’m an adult.”

Armie is silent for a while, staring at his empty plate. Timmy can tell that he’s holding something off his tongue, but he allows him to contemplate whether or not to say it. “You’ll have a roommate now, too? God, the sex!” He teased, making Timmy laugh.

“No way, Jesus. Not at the rate that we’re going at it.” Timmy moves his brow suggestively, and Armie pinches at his skin with his toes. “So that means a smaller one, compared to this.” He’s still watching Armie as he talks, looking for signs of what he’s not saying could be. 

Instead, Armie just stared across, smiling and proud. “Let me know if I can help.” 

“You can start by saying what you think.” The thing is, Armie never lies to Timmy, unless it’s about stupid shit that he gets caught with right away, that much he knows. At the same time, Timmy also never forces Armie to speak when he’s not ready, and it’s part of their communication to verbally agree to temporarily set it aside rather than letting things slide. 

From the way Armie frowns, it’s clear that he’s thinking about it, too. He’s in the middle of categorizing if it should be said now or later. “I think it’s such an important milestone in your life, and I’m happy for you.” 

“And?” Timmy prompts, curious and at the edge of his seat because of it. 

“And I don’t want to take that away from you by asking for too much-”

“You’re not - sorry,” Timmy winces at his own interruption, sucking his lips in bashfully. “But God, I wish you’d ask for something, because you never do. Sorry, that’s it. Go on, please.” 

Armie looked at him amusedly, which thankfully eased the tension on his face. “I was going to ask if you’d like to do it together?” When the words are out, Armie looks like he’s confused by it, so he explains “I mean, now that you talked about it, I actually just got my flat too when I inherited my position at the company. I guess I’m asking if you would consider if you’d like to look into listings with me.” 

Timmy is shaken to his core by the proposition he never dared to ask but is hearing right now. He’s long been aware that they’re painfully in sync, but he always leaves room for doubt, or else he would get ahead of himself and assume. That’s not a very healthy way to approach things, especially since Armie just gives and  _ gives. _

“Oh thank  _ God, _ ” Timmy hears himself gasp out, breathless and stunned. 

Armie blinks, dumbfounded. “Huh?” 

Pushing his chair, Timmy rounds the table and slides on Armie’s lap, kissing him soundly. When they parted, Armie was smiling back at him, if not a little confused. “I do want that. It’s  _ exactly  _ what I want, actually. I just couldn’t ask because-” he shrugs. “Well, your apartment. You seemed settled there.” 

Armie scowls. “It has  _ nothing  _ in it.” 

“I thought it’s minimalist?” Timmy asks, poking at Armie’s chest. 

Armie scoffs. “That’s literally every bachelor’s excuse for failing to decorate.” 

“Ah, so you’re moving with me so I can decorate?” Timmy teased, crossing his arm on his chest chidingly. 

“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t want you to get a roommate because we won’t get to fuck as much.”

“We can fuck now.” 

“We  _ should. _ ”

Needless to say, they were late for Christmas over Timmy’s family. No one looked surprised though. In fact, they didn’t even care. They’re pretty happy with their gifts anyway. 

*******

Armie got Timmy the Kolinsky sable brush set that he was eyeing one time when they were out. He had it engraved with Timmy’s signature that he put on his arts and got a custom leather box with gold trims and a roll-up to match. They were pretty damn expensive for paintbrushes, but what does Armie know about these things? Besides, he’s loaded. It didn’t dent his savings  _ at all,  _ but he’s pretty culture shocked with how high the prices of art stuff go. 

When Timmy got his present, he was about ready to cry but jumped on Armie’s arm and melted there. Obviously, it just picked up from there, meaning they had some spectacular birthday sex that had Timmy riding him like his life depended on it. It still gets Armie cross-eyed thinking about it hours later. 

“Do you have a particular thing in mind? Anything at all; size, number of rooms, a fireplace.” Nicole asked as she scrolled through the iPad. 

They broke out the news shortly after Timmy blew out the cake. No one even reacted, except for Pauline who’s just confused that they haven’t moved in together yet. 

Timmy looked at him expectantly. “What do you think?” 

“Your call,” Armie responds. 

“It’s going to be your flat, too.” Timmy reiterates. 

“I just care that it’s where you are.” Armie says offhandedly. The color rose to Timmy’s cheek pretty fast, which got him to contemplate if it was a lot to say. It’s just the truth though. 

“I mean, like, your stuff. Won’t you need a study?” Timmy just waves his hand around in the air, avoiding his eyes the more his blush brightens. 

Armie chuckles. It’s adorable. “Not even necessary,” he clarifies. “We both would need an enormous space for our books though. We have quite a number.” 

“I think we’ll look into three bedrooms at least.” Timmy tells his mother. “We have a bunch of clothes, too. We both have walk-in closets.” 

“I’m getting rid of most of my clothes. A lot of them are from so long ago and don’t really fit anymore, or whatever other reason. I think it’ll shrink to half or even less by the time I’m done.” Armie tries to recall his apartment and thinks of what else he wants to deal with. “I don’t really own much so that’s about it.” 

Timmy is just gaping at him now. “What do  _ you  _ want in particular to be there?” 

The first thing his mind comes up with is a piano, so he says it. “I want a piano there.” 

Closing his eyes to regulate his breathing, Timmy asks through his blushing. “When you say I’m the best thing in your life, do you mean I’m the  _ only _ thing in your life?” 

Armie pauses for the hell of it. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” 

They both collapsed in a fit of giggles. 

*******

Pauline watches Nicole help Timmy and Armie with New York real estate from the kitchen island, sitting on a stool while Marc drinks water by her side. 

“ _ They’re going to be together forever. I’m calling it. _ ” Pauline tells her father, eyes still glued where the group are huddled on the couch. “ _ I thought that type of love exists only in movies! _ ”

Marc only smiles into his glass. “ _ Timothée is very lucky. _ ” 

“ _ Papa, luck is an understatement. Look at Armand! He’s just staring at Timothée. I wonder what he sees? That kid literally leaves a trail of pistachio shells when he eats. Ugh, _ ” Pauline grouses. 

Laughing now, Marc sets his glass down and sits on the stool next to Pauline. “ _ Who knows? So far, I can only see that to Armand, Timothée can do no wrong. _ ” 

“ _ Understatement. _ ” Pauline agrees, her chest warming as he hears her brother interact with Armie. They’re stupidly adorable and much too in love. 

Based on what she’s heard so far, the only requests that Armie verbalized so far had everything to do with Timmy. It’s just about the only thing he wants out of it, and it’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful; to see a love so full and bright and  _ giving. _

“I don’t want to take the piano in my apartment. Maybe I’ll just look into restoring or something.” Timmy says absently, looking over Nicole’s shoulder as their eyes flit through the suggested listings. 

Armie looks taken aback by the plan. “Why restoring?” 

“Well, because I don’t want an electronic. Also, there are a lot of old ones out there selling for really low since they just want to get rid of it. Restoring is cheaper; maybe I’ll find an upright one.” Timmy explains, clearly having thought through his options. 

Out of his depth, Armie asks “Why? How much is a piano compared to restoring?” 

“Up to two hundred thousand for a grand piano.” Timmy scrunches his nose at the cost, then bounces back to tease. “What? You’re offering?” 

“Do you want one? Use my card.” Armie didn’t even blink. 

Rolling his eyes, Timmy warns “Wrong answer.” 

“Oh, right. That was the question. The answer is ‘yes.’” Armie smartly corrects, purposefully annoying Timmy. 

Timmy pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “Armie,” he growls out. 

God, Pauline will vote for this dude until the end of time. “ _ He’s so wealthy. Papa, I want that. _ ” 

“ _ Well, you better get going. It’s tough finding your soulmate. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that other fic I’m thinking of writing? Well, yeah. There’s two of them in my mind now. It’s about to be angst fest but shit ton of sex, or enemies to lovers and then sex later. Do let me know which sounds more appealing!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo!!! We’re getting there 🥺 but I promise, time stamps to this will be added even after epilogue!!!

The move came by slowly but surely. After the holidays, Nicole already got them hooked with at least three agencies. When Armie steps into the process of combing through the listings, a few more options become available to them, largely due to his very good networks and the favors people owed him. They’ve gone through a bunch of tours now, mostly empty ones, some semi-furnished. It was hard to find the middle ground where the location was perfect and so was the space. By the time that they'd arrived at a decision it was already Valentine’s, which was how they spent it. It adds up to fifteen minutes of travel for Armie, and moving out of his building means he can no longer have Tom at his beck and call, but he hardly minded. Timmy also would have to learn to maximize his space, especially since they won’t be having a lot of it, but it’s honestly not even a big deal. 

They closed the deal with the agent, settling their bills and monthly dues. Obviously, Armie can probably afford the entire building, but because they’re doing it on the pace of Timmy’s earnings, they’re settling for this way. The thing with arts and music is that it’s hard to find a place in the industry, but once you build enough following the pay is generous. You’ll be appalled at just how much the wealthy elites are willing to spend on luxuries than in contributing to decreasing world problems. Even so, Timmy has learned to manage his finances. It was a challenge he set himself up for upon graduation, knowing his trust fund would get cut off soon. 

The longer they’re together, the more apparent it seems that Armie is definitely the more romantic one. Instead of going to a restaurant and having a cliché date for Valentine’s, he drove them to the empty apartment they recently paid for, still completely bare and rough at the edges. Armie had flowers ready for Timmy, as well as charcuterie and their favorite bottle of wine. This new apartment has no balcony, but to make up for this, it has a massive, floor to ceiling, black-paneled tilt and turn window right at the kitchen. Armie brings up a futon that Timmy has no idea where he got from, which he throws by the window and dumps a bunch of blankets on. He then pushes the massive window open, the chilly evening breeze slowly filling in the room. 

They spent their Valentine’s cuddled together on the makeshift mattress on the floor, making out and feeding each other bites from the cheese board. They sip their wine as they point all around the empty space, lit only by the failing light fixtures scattered across the walls, planning what things go where. 

“The couch should totally go opposite the fireplace.” Timmy says, painting the picture in his head. “We can either have a T.V over it or a painting.” 

Armie hums in agreement. “The dining table should be horizontal and aligned with the back of the couch, so we can maximize the view to the T.V.” 

Timmy nods, taking a cold cut and using it to wrap a piece of cheese with, feeding Armie and then himself. “That’s good. We definitely cannot share a workspace, we’ll drive each other nuts.” 

“That’s true,” Armie concedes with a laugh. “I think it’s spacious enough to split. Let’s do that, and then leave your side into an open archway to the clearance, so you get more storage and light.” 

“Is this our flat or just mine?” Timmy teased, but he’s on the verge of tears with happiness of simply discussing things like this. 

Armie chuckles, kissing on top of his head. “It’s our  _ home. _ ” He corrects gently. “Besides, you said it yourself. Where you live is your workspace, too. Me? I’m good with the office at the company. Now that I’ll be coming home to you, I won’t be too thrilled to bring back work  _ at all. _ ” 

There’s only so much joy a heart can take before it clenched tightly in your chest. Timmy learns that tonight, and it’s the most exquisite pain in his life. It tells him that what he has is a love so alive that it moves him to the core. Armie is still talking about the flat, clueless of how much his devotion is tugging at Timmy. He’s talking about custom shelves, the position of his piano, how they’ll build easy-access storage for his materials, and all Timmy can hear is how Armie is beyond dedicated to living in the same space. 

“I do want to splurge on the kitchen though,” Armie says, his head turned to the side as he eyes the empty space opposite to the window they’re situated at. “We spend a lot of time together in the kitchen, and you also love to cook.” 

“Following that logic you should also splurge on a bed.” Timmy quips, craning his face to Armie. 

Armie stares at him, then at the view of the cityscape by the window. “You’re absolutely correct.” 

“We can’t have sex here.” Timmy just lays there anyway, allowing Armie’s hand to wander down his pants, even spreading his legs. 

“Yet.” Armie smartly answers, and gives him a handjob under the blankets anyway. 

All in all, it was the best Valentine’s both of them has ever spent. 

*******

Despite what most would expect, Armie actually finds his productivity rising even though they’re literally in the middle of building a flat from ground-up. Right now, they’re still staying over each other’s flats, and at the same time taking apart their stuff to see which ones will be kept and which has to go. They’ve already established that Armie doesn’t really have a lot that he’s attached with. Waking up with a renewed purpose definitely motivates him throughout the day, and he’s getting more and more work done each passing day. Naturally, everyone noticed. 

Viktor just said it’s about time. Jenny thought they were already living together. Liz came by one afternoon so she could gloat about giving them to each other but hugged him before she left. Of course the news would reach his parents, but his father only called for a confirmation, while his mother asked something about Timmy’s availability so she can use him for her socialite affairs. Armie told her off by saying that he can’t tell with all the work they have. 

By the end of his days, Armie would always return to an apartment he knows Timmy is in, or will be, having coordinated where they would be staying for the night everyday. It makes it sound like a rehearsal of sorts for when the real thing finally materializes, but Armie knows it can never compare. The weeks of planning and building turn into months, and every sketch that Timmy shows still grips his heart like a vice, knocking the breath out of his lungs at just how utterly magnificent it is to have found what they have. 

For March, they’ve managed to restore and fix the shell of the house as they see fit to their plan. The walls are polished and painted too, their floors cemented and tiled. April saw their flat getting fixtures built in where they need it, which according to their sketch is a lot. They needed shelves for books, cabinets for Timmy’s materials, the counters had to be extensive, same as the cupboards, a pantry, the laundry area. It doesn’t help that a lot of it is custom to their tastes, mercilessly scraped if not fit to their liking. The piano restoration plan is not coming along  _ at all.  _ Timmy cannot be fooled in his own trade, and in their search for an upright piano to refurbish, their options had mainly been either scams or people who don’t know when to give up. 

“Can’t I get you the piano?” Armie asks as they stroll hand in hand, taking a break from the construction in the apartment. 

Timmy laughs. “Obviously you  _ can.  _ You shouldn’t though.” 

Bargaining, Armie says “How about I pull strings? So we can get a seller who actually has some sense into them?” 

“See, this is what I keep you around for.” 

Armie set his network to find them antique pianos for restoration. This one had looked more promising, and the only reason why he hadn't done it sooner was because Timmy already had a list he wanted to check, and Armie frankly didn’t know enough about it to step in. Just two weeks into looking, Timmy found a salvageable upright piano. The restoration was grueling and extensive, but Armie realized the charm. The process clearly made everything so much more meaningful. 

Now that their apartment is filling in, it’s becoming evident how it’s totally a few steps a downgrade to their previous apartments. First off, it’s not quite as spacious, and though the neighborhood is still very nice, it’s not the wealthier side of the city. Then of course, not everything is topshelf level as compared to their inherited properties. Armie could provide, of course, but it’s unfair. Instead of freely decorating, they also decided to build around the upright piano the moment it came in. That’s not to say it’s not good. 

If it’s up to Armie, he’ll tell you it’s already shaping into the first real home he’ll have. Every bit of the apartment has their touch to it, the paint on the walls, the materials of the tiles, the size of the fixtures, the height of their dividers. By May, they'd already bought and moved a bunch of appliances, and Armie was given the green light to spend as much as he liked on the kitchen. Their furniture is also handpicked if not custom-made, and they eventually joined the appliances, filling in their apartment. Before June, Timmy and Armie are arranging all their personal belongings into boxes, ready to move at last. 

*******

“We still have more space for books.” Timmy remarks after they put them on shelves. 

*******

“Hey, look. You can use this for your canvas.” Armie says of a particular vertical cabinet that they didn’t end up putting anything into. 

*******

“So you did get rid of more than half of your clothes.” Timmy gasps out, his eyes taking in the partition of their walk-in closet and realizing the ratio of their clothes. 

*******

“Hand me the wine crate. I know exactly where to put it.” Armie holds his hand out, crouching by the pantry as he sees the gap where he could stack their wine. 

*******

“I can’t believe we dropped so much cash for a bed.” Timmy stands over it, gaping at the newly delivered mattress and custom bed frame, but Armie just comes up behind him and trails kisses on his neck, pulling him down on their still wrapped bed and making love on it. 

*******

Once the last of their things are moved and settled into the apartment, Timmy actually cried. It didn’t happen as soon as they finished, or even while they were at it. It was after dinner, the first meal they cooked in the ridiculously expensive kitchen, and Armie served them wine, which he plucked out from under the pantry that he discovered could hold their bottles. The rush of emotions overtook him so suddenly that his face crumpled because of it, making Armie jump off the counter and rush to his side. 

“Hey now, angel.” Armie coos at him softly, hand brushing his hair and his smile evident in his voice. 

Of course he would know that it’s not sorrow that made the tears fall from Timmy’s eyes. How could he not, when it’s the boundless happiness he brings that moved Timmy to tears? The shushing only made him cry harder though, so taken by his emotions that he no longer knows what to do with them. 

“Sorry,” he sniffles, their faces nuzzled together and Armie’s smile pressed on his cheek. 

Chuckling, Armie says “What brought this on, hmm? Did you finally look at our bill?” He wipes a tear that escaped Timmy’s eyes, catching it as it rolls down his face. 

Timmy laughed. They did spend a hefty sum for the past four months since buying the space in February. “Well, yes, that too.” 

“It’s split monthly. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” Armie mumbles, playing along as he leans them on the edge of the kitchen counter, still hugging. 

“‘We?’” Timmy repeats, shuffling in Armie’s arms so he can press his back on his chest. “You can pay it full and in cash up front.” 

Armie shrugs, his chuckle sending a thrum between them. “That’s not how we’re doing things, though.” 

“How are we doing things?” Timmy baits mischievously. 

Dropping a kiss on the top of his head, Armie says “Together.” 

The lump in Timmy’s throat remains even while they’re doing the dishes, and still after they’ve put them away. Everything they do on their first day of moving in rips him a new one, and he can’t seem to stop his eyes from pooling with tears. Armie has gone back and forth from teasing gently and coddling him, both Timmy appreciates endlessly. It still feels surreal, like his mind is viewing things through a lens rather than his own eyes. There are moments where he feels detached, like it’s another person’s life and he’s just watching it. But then, Armie would walk into his sight, take him into his arms, kiss him tenderly on the top of his head, and Timmy would feel breathless all of a sudden as he realizes that it’s his own and not just some mirage in the dessert. He’s so, so grateful. 

They’re putting sheets and blankets over their new bed when Timmy finally settles into his own skin. It’s like his consciousness finally clicks with the reality around him, and he begins to shake in a fit of giggles. 

“What?” Armie asks from across the bed, confused but obviously finding it endearing. 

Timmy shakes his head, taking his face out of his palms and reaching forward. “Come here,” he urges. 

Armie is smiling as he complies. There’s still confusion in his eyes, but seeing Timmy happy clearly takes precedence. Gently, Timmy pushes Armie to sit on the edge of the bed, then slides down on his lap to caress his face. 

“Happy, angel?” Armie leans his head to Timmy’s palm, enjoying the touch. 

Timmy nods eagerly. “Are you?” 

Armie huffs like he can’t believe it’s a question. “Of course,” he answers, rubbing absently along Timmy’s spine. “I’m with you. That’s all I want.” 

“And you love me,” Timmy prompts, indulging his desire to hear it. 

Armie confirms with a nod as his smile widens, while his eyes leave no more room for doubt. “‘I am so in love with you that there isn’t anything else.’” 

Timmy chuckles through his grin even though his automatic response is a slight frown, hopelessly charmed by the literary quote from Hemingway. “A Farewell to Arms didn’t end so well.” He points out. 

“Ours will.” Armie replies with absolute certainty. 

“Well, thankfully you don’t have a drinking problem.” Timmy nudges their shoulders together, teasing. 

“No, just a sweet tooth.” Armie answers lightly, falling on his back as Timmy pushes on his shoulder. 

They sink together on the bed, kissing tenderly and flipping each other. There’s an exhilarating relief as they undress hastily, laughing at every bump and kissing to make up for it. They trade more kisses every time they find it in themselves to suppress their smiles, holding each other’s face and knowing no words need to be said. The happiness is so palpable that it lights their skin on fire, making them arch into each other’s touch. Armie takes them both in his slicked hand and pumps along the length, making Timmy come off the bed. They gasp into each other’s mouths, breathless with the sensation, yet still helplessly giggling when their eyes meet. 

Timmy kneels over Armie’s head as he lies down, then Timmy reaches over to take his dick into his mouth, while Armie pushes his fingers inside him and licks lines from the underside of his own cock and then his balls. His breath gets shallower from the stimulation, only managing to suck at the tip of the cock in his mouth while he works the rest of the shaft with his hand. 

Attentive as always, Armie withdraws his hands and mouth, tapping at Timmy, but he shakes his head. Instead, he keeps Armie lying on his back as he turns, rolling a condom and pouring lube as he slowly sinks himself down. Armie takes his dick into his hand, jerking him off as Timmy moves himself on top, head thrown back in pleasure. Armie allows him to take as he needs, as he wants, but more than anything Timmy wants to make it good for him. Forcing his weight on his shaking legs, Timmy braces himself with his hands on Armie’s chest, getting his hand out of the way, and slams his hips down, and again, and again, until he sees Armie’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Timmy keeps the sensual pace of his pelvis, taking him inside all the way to the hilt before pulling off right to the tip, then down. It clearly worked perfectly for them both, Armie managing to draw out the pleasure from sliding in and out of the tight heat, while Timmy is practically seeing stars at every hit on his prostate. 

“Fuck,” Armie gasped, shaking and on edge. “Keep doing that - fuck, angel - I’m gonna come,” 

Timmy feels him release into him, his dick pulsing as his orgasm hits, spilling right into the condom. The feeling made them both moan long and loud, and he collapsed on top, his limbs giving out beneath him. Armie only allows himself a second to clear his mind before he sets Timmy down on the bed and taking his dick into his mouth, sucking him until he comes. 

“Do you still mind the amount we spent on this bed?” Armie quips as he cleans them off with wipes. 

Timmy couldn’t even find it in himself to be irked. “Nope,” he opens his drowsy eyes slightly, just to peak at Armie’s adoring smile. “It’s my best investment yet.” 

*******

“Ah! Back from the dead.” Viktor says as they bump into each other as Armie leaves a conference. 

“I was gone for one day. My day off,” Armie reminds him, walking together to get some lunch. 

“You’re so productive but at the same time not.” Viktor grimaced at his own wording, stepping into the elevator after Armie. 

It made Armie laugh anyway. “Pick a side.” 

Viktor gestures in the air, struggling to explain. “You get everything done in the office and then completely disappear on us after work hours.” 

“I have something better to do.” Armie couldn’t resis the opportunity to be an ass. “Someone,” he amends with a smirk. 

Sputtering, Viktor shouts “Ew, what the fuck! No one needs to know!” 

Armie just laughs, enjoying his brother’s suffering. “You came up with this topic.” 

Viktor glared at him. “I didn’t mention it to check on your sex life.” He grumbles, unimpressed. “Has mom and dad said anything?” 

“Not really, unless you count that one phone call when dad asked. Mom just wants to dangle Timmy around so she can show off to her friends.” Armie answer, greeting a few staff who are getting in elevator as they step out. 

“Typical,” Viktor huffs with a shake of his head. “When’s the housewarming?” 

“Trust me, you don’t want it anytime soon.” Armie doesn’t miss a beat and greets the barista cheerfully. 

“Can you chill out!” Viktor nearly shouts behind him. 

“You asked.” Armie shrugged, nonchalant. 

*******

The housewarming  _ did  _ happen on the first week of June, two weeks after Armie and Timmy moved in to their new apartment. They invited very few people, and even fewer who actually made it, but that’s just how it is to be working adults. Viktor arrives before anyone else, which is probably for the better, since he knows he must’ve looked stupid as he gapes around the apartment. 

It couldn’t be more different than Armie’s previous place, the most obvious being that it is not nearly as luxurious, nor was it as big. His flat in their building had been straight out of architectural magazines, or a feature in city real estate. Despite this, Viktor would say with conviction that this is infinitely better. Everywhere he looked, he can tell that it was Armie and Timmy who decided on it; the colors, the materials, the texture, the placements. Viktor doesn’t think he’s ever seen his brother’s personality into anything, yet he finds it here, and all the signs bleed so effortlessly into what Viktor can identify as Timmy’s. Their living room up to the kitchen takes up one whole undivided area, but each so threaded seamlessly that it flows. They have massive windows along the expanse of the wall, letting the natural light in. There’s an open archway beside the upright piano, and it’s a burst of colors from paintings and sculptures. There’s a glass-paneled door that leads to a study, but despite the difference of their work orientation the spaces still fit. 

Above all else, it’s the pictures that took Viktor’s breath away. They have so many scattered throughout the common area, some on surfaces, others hanging on the wall, but all equally capturing Armie and Timmy in their happiest adventures together. It all adds to the intimacy of their home, and somehow it’s warmer to be in it just to see that the ones who own the space have lived so happily and continue to do so. 

Viktor huffed at the sight, overcome with the urge to hug his brother. It was difficult for them both to imagine a home with a loving family, to return to a place of comfort after a long day, to  _ live _ in a house rather than just exist in it. It’s a relief that he feels for Armie and himself, knowing that his brother found it and it didn’t turn to ash, and it gives him hope for himself, if anything. It was a long way up here, but clearly they made it. Viktor is so proud of his brother. 

“Geez, close your mouth.” Armie saunters to the living room, mocking as he stares at Viktor. 

He couldn’t even take offense in it if he tried. “So this is the real thing, huh?” Viktor says, indicating their apartment and picking up a picture. It was in France, he thinks, in Timmy’s countryside home with the rest of his family, and Armie looked more at ease around them than he ever did around his own. 

Armie’s face softens, then follows his hand as Viktor touches the frame. “Timmy’s family sent us a massive box of pictures. Some are from our trip there last year, and then during the holidays.”

“You did good.” Viktor tells him simply. 

Armie nods in understanding, and gives him a small smile. “I know. I never thought I could.” 

“You did,” Viktor agrees. There’s no denying that. “I’m so happy for you, man.” 

“So we  _ can _ be better.” Armie glances at his sideways, and Viktor understands immediately. 

They never talk about how their parents are such massive fuck-ups, but they do acknowledge it. “I think we already are.” 

Armie nods, pleased with the answer, and pulls Viktor into a hug. 

Soon after, people start to come in. Viktor meets Saoirse, who he immediately get on with because of their humor. Liz bursts in soon after, and everyone laughs because she totally milked the fact that she introduced them. Tasha is sort of like Saoirse’s plus one, they went to NYU together, she said. Luca and Gloria doted on Timmy, and they both seemed fond enough around Armie for Viktor to guess that they’ve spent plenty of time together in the past. 

The crowd is predominantly Timmy’s friends, yet still such a small circle. Armie told him that the only ones who couldn’t make it were Timmy’s family and his French-Italian friends who had shifts that night. Still, it’s so telling of just how delicately Armie and Timmy are treating the affair. They’re never shy to go around the city together. Viktor is aware that they’ve gone to multiple events as each other’s dates. Despite the common knowledge of the relationship between them, Armie and Timmy are so extremely private. It shows at every interaction they have; the looks they share, the smiles they exchange, their small nudges on each other. Armie has also never talked about him and Timmy. Of course, Viktor gets to talk to Armie about Timmy, but they’re almost always just limited to Armie’s side. He also never talked about a fight or an argument, unless it’s already passed and they no longer dwell on it. Mostly, he just mentioned them, unthinking, because none of it bothers them anymore. 

What they have is so clearly just theirs. It was impressive and intimidating, just as much as it sparks envy and curiosity. They’re so tight-lipped about their relationship, and all their guests could do was marvel at the greatness of it all. 

“Armie owes you for the rest of his life.” Viktor tells Liz as the lounge by the massive window at the kitchen. 

Liz chuckles. “Damn right, he does. And to think he didn’t even want to go!” She sighs as she takes a look around, her eyes shining with amazement. “Look at this place; it’s everything that they are.” 

“Yeah, you’re the one who knows them both very well.” Viktor concedes, knowing the history of friendship Liz has with the two. 

“So take my word for it. They fit perfectly.” Liz tilts her glass to him, and Viktor doesn’t even think about it as he clicks their glasses together. He agrees completely.

*******

Pride in America is a landmine, to Timmy’s experience. Europe is fine, there are shocking bits and pieces, but generally tame and family-friendly. In America, he’s seen fetish being flaunted around and homophobes angrily crashing the parade, both of which really traumatize a lot of people, young and adults alike. He attends it anyway. 

Like always, Timmy doesn’t really aim for the front lines and performing. There were only two years in his entire stay in America when he allowed himself to participate in Broadway Pride performances, but even those were only on the sidelines. Now, he’s behind the scenes and volunteering. Basically, he helps with anything that needs to be done; from preparing snacks to arranging someone’s costume to decorating a banner. He rather enjoys watching everything unfold, even more so to help add to the experience that everyone has on Pride month. It’s his own way of celebrating; to provide with anything he has to the liberation of all the others in the community who didn’t get the love and support he has. 

“ _ Are you not going to the street? _ ” Luca asks as he picks on the pre-packaged snacks on the table, speaking in Italian despite their company. 

Timmy just smiles. “ _ Maybe later. There’s still stuff to do. Besides, we do lack people who would hold things together back here. Everyone wanted to go. _ ”

“ _ And you don’t? _ ” Luca eyes him curiously, chewing on candies. 

“ _ I grew up accepted and loved every day of my life, you know? My sexuality was treated just like any other trait in our home. If I can make it better for them even just for a day, I don’t mind staying here so they can enjoy it. _ ” Timmy explains, glancing over the road and smiling at the people marching. 

Grumbling, Luca bobs his head as he takes in his point. “ _ Speaking of which, where is that movie star of yours? _ ” 

The nickname for Armie has stuck in their circle ever since Luca used it in the first Happy Hour. “ _ He’s at work. We FaceTimed earlier. _ ” 

“ _ Ah, pity. I quite looked forward to seeing him dressed for Pride March. _ ” Luca teased gently. 

Timmy snorts. “ _ You and me both. _ ” 

“ _ Your outfit is very tamed, though. Is it because you’re domesticated now? _ ” Luca prods, pelting him with a candy. 

Erupting in laughter, Timmy stands up and spins on his heels. He never actually dressed over-the-top for Pride, ever, usually still going for clothes people would see him wear on other occasions, like a floral suit or a particularly blinding burst of colors. In fact, Timmy would even say that this year is when he dressed up more to the theme, wearing a black see-through short sleeve shirt with bright embroidery and tailored pants. 

“ _ This is it, okay? Armie picked this slim-fit shirt sometime ago. _ ” Timmy says, nodding his head to the people under the tent with them who are clueless to the conversation but amused with the display. 

“You look good!” Erica, a member of the choral, said with a grin. 

“Thanks,” Timmy clicks his tongue playfully. 

Andrew, a sound technician, motions him forward to the board. “Do you think you can help me with this? I can’t sort through the arrangement they want.” 

“Yeah sure,” Timmy replies, nodding at Luca who swats at him. He takes the chair beside him and begins to sort through the intended setlist. 

“It’s good that that brat is useful even if he’s annoying.” Luca tells someone from behind Timmy, making him laugh again. “Imagine having to deal with that smartass and get nothing out of it.” 

Timmy’s hands are still working through the music as he peers over his shoulder. “Excuse me, I prepared those snacks you’re munching on.” 

“Certainly these banners aren’t going to finish themselves.” Luca waves around some paintbrushes, still annoying him because he’s bored. 

“There, it’s in this order. Just make sure to take note of the break here.” Timmy points to the board and instructs, making sure Andrew got it all before turning to Luca. “My God, you bring down the spirit of half of the street.” 

“If you brought your boyfriend and dressed him in leather, all of us would be in agreement right now.” Luca deadpans, kicking his feet on the stool by the table. 

Timmy laughs. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” 

The banter continues between the volunteers in the tent, jabbing at one another for literally anything. It was either that or to watch the parade, and it’s pretty tame now since the performance just ended, while the next would take a thirty-minute break. It was a wholesome affair for most part, but Timmy bets it’s mainly because they’re stationary. If he goes out there, he can immediately expect religious fanatics or bigots or straights who want their own pride month. 

“Timmy, let’s?” Ryan, a set designer, holds up the banners, ready to finish them. 

Timmy rose to his feet and got to work. “Do you think we should still layer or this is fine?” 

“Eh, let me see.” Ryan wipes his hand and clicks his phone to check the time. “Nah, probably not. It’ll take time. Let’s just keep it neat.” 

Shrugging, Timmy starts cleaning up the edges. “Where does this go again? Don’t they have enough over the canopy?” 

“No ‘enough’ here, young man, it’s Pride.” Ryan eyes him, grinning. “It’s for the sides, kinda like a drape. I don’t know.” 

“Just got passed the design and did it?” Timmy nods along, returning the knowing smile. 

Ryan huffs. “You got it.” 

It didn’t take long to finish the rest of it, as it’s not even that intricate. Timmy can’t keep track anymore of what will be used for what, but if they say they need it he just provides. After hanging them to dry, he moves to catalogue the other things that needed sorting, like food, water and other costumes. 

“Ah, there you go.” Timmy frowns, hearing Saoirse’s voice come up to the tent. “Oy, Timmy!” 

When Timmy spins on his heels to face her, his eyes landed on Armie, dressed down from his work suit and now only wearing his shirt open a few buttons and rolled up to the elbow, trousers and dress shoes, holding a massive bouquet. “Wha - Armie?” He stutters, shocked to find him when it’s a busy day at the office. 

Armie murmurs a quick thanks to Saoirse then openly checks him out. “You wore it!” He notes gleefully, staring at Timmy’s see-through shirt as he walks towards him. 

“I thought you’re at work.” Timmy mumbles weakly, already flushed hot on the face as Armie pulls him to his chest. 

“I finished early so I can come here with you and volunteer.” Armie replies, waving goodnaturedly to the people at the tent. “Here, I got you flowers. Happy Pride,” he adds, kissing the top of his head as he holds up the assorted roses. 

“You two act like you don’t live together.” Saoirse grouses, walking somewhere behind Armie and fumbling with a bag. 

Timmy plants a quick kiss on Armie’s lips, but still feels too flustered to talk to him so he just pulls him aside to bicker with Saoirse. “Let me have my moment, or I’ll shout homophobia.” 

“You’re calling half of New York single just by looking at each other. Nobody will take your side.” Saoirse retorts as she takes a folder out and brings it on a table. “Your man also lists himself to volunteer, and basically covers the fees we need.” 

Timmy frowns, looking at Armie. “Didn’t you already cover for medical expenses?” 

It was a yearly thing that Armie does, it turns out. He makes sure that should anyone get injured at Pride, especially from hate violence, they are taken care off accordingly and for free. 

Armie dismissed him with a shrug, instead more focused on undoing the buttons on Timmy’s shirt down to his gut. 

“What are you doing?” Timmy asked, letting him tug at the collars so the shirt opens wider on his chest, but still confused. 

“You should show some skin.” Armie moves his brow suggestively. 

“Why?” 

“Why not? I can fight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry time flew in this chapter. I wanted them to move in together but at realistic pacing. I also added the Pride part as a nod, since it’s there already anyway. Anniversary chapter tomorrow! 💓


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👁👄👁
> 
> I— omfg. I forgot to post yesterday I’m so sorry 💀 I literally went here to check my inbox and it’s not updated akshskahsjs. 
> 
> Also, I just realized I said anniversary on my last chapter, but uh. Actually it’s porn. Next is the anniversary one. Sorry again.

“Did you move my basket?” Timmy comes out of their en suite, pointing a toothbrush at Armie accusingly. 

“Yeah, I told you not to put it on the sink. It’ll get wet.” Armie answers absently, laptop on his legs as he reviews his emails. 

“I told you if you just cup your palms when you wash your face you won’t get water everywhere.” Timmy snaps, irritated. 

“Just take it from the cabinet, it’s not a big deal.” Armie scowls in the air, wondering why this is even an issue. 

Timmy whips around so fast and narrows his eyes. “No matter where I shove that basket, you still _need_ to fix how you wash your face. You’re spraying water everywhere.” 

“Why is that the problem now?” Armie asked incredulously. 

“Because that’s the root of it all!” Timmy answers sharply, staring him down from the bathroom door. 

Sighing, Armie says “Let’s just get a wall shelf for your stuff so you don’t put it on the sink.” 

“That’s still not the point.” 

“I’ll cup my palms when I wash my face.” 

“There. Not so hard now, is it?” 

*******

Armie wakes up to Timmy’s singing voice from the kitchen. Unlike their previous apartments, this one is actually small enough that sound carries throughout the space. He lies there for some more, smiling with his eyes closed as he listens to Timmy singing, more interested in the sound of his voice than the song, while the smell of breakfast travels through their flat. It’s mornings like this that makes warmth spread from his chest and throughout his body, so comforting and domestic that he feels the need to stop just to take in the moment. 

Opening his eyes, Armie pushes off the bed and pads to the kitchen, seeing Timmy still singing as he transfers their breakfast on plates. Sensing him, he turns and smiles at Armie, holding the plates up and bringing them to the table. Armie walks to the sink and rinses his mouth before coming up to Timmy and hugging him from behind. 

“Good morning, angel.” He greets, kissing the top of his head. 

“Good morning,” Timmy greets back, swaying back and forth to the music. 

“You like this song,” Armie remarks, listening closely but failing to name it. 

Timmy is just hopping along to it now. “Yup,” he answers, and Armie got an idea. 

Taking Timmy’s hand, Armie spins him out of his embrace and sets him into the space of their dining area, then pulling him back to his chest, his own feet tapping to the song. Timmy catches on to the invitation to dance right away, spinning himself and swaying as they move around and towards each other. Their apartment is filled with music and laughter soon after, Timmy even singing along whenever he feels he’s caught his breath, while Armie just watched, beyond content to be where Timmy is, and happy as long as he is. 

*******

Grocery is a maddening task, especially if your boyfriend is predominantly European in upbringing and has to deal with the massive quality downgrade from American production. They had most things they keep in their pantry from the grocery near them, but Timmy wanted to get a particular type of pasta and naturally, of course, some quality cheese. It took them two other stores to find what Timmy is looking for, which he explained briefly to Armie. Despite the amount of work, Armie still took the time to remember the type that Timmy wanted, just for future references. 

“Anything else?” Armie asks as he loads up their bags to the car. 

Timmy spins to look at him. “Yes?” He answers reluctantly. “Just one more, I promise!” 

Armie only smiles, shaking his head lightly. Of course it’s tiring, but he finds that he doesn’t mind at all. “Anything for you, angel.” He pulls Timmy to his chest and kisses his cheek. “Now let’s go.” 

They drove to a hole in the wall bakery that gets the street smelling immaculate with baked goods. Timmy just about got a haul of bread right away, then passed a basket to Armie. 

“Get us some pastries?” Timmy looks up at him, then goes on his tiptoes to kiss him quickly. 

Armie loves this man so much that his heart aches with it. 

*******

The other side of the bed is cold to touch when Armie turns on his side, his hand immediately reaching for Timmy. His eyes are still heavy from sleep, but he forces them open just as he forces himself to sit up and take in the sight of their dark bedroom. Idly, Armie remembers falling asleep tangled with Timmy, so he must’ve slipped out of bed after he dozed off. Taking his discarded sweatpants on the floor, Armie steps out of their bedroom, finding immediately the light on in Timmy’s studio and following it. 

“What’s keeping you up?” Armie asks, rubbing at his eyes as he walks over to Timmy on the floor, hunched over a painting. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” Timmy looks up to him, makes a move to stand up, but Armie bends down and sits beside him. “Sorry, I can’t shake this thing off my mind, so I painted it.” 

Armie recognized it as a commissioned piece for a wealthy socialite who wants an intricate tableau, but Timmy hit a creative block and put it off for more than a week, just as it was coming to completion. 

“Any good?” He asks, scooting closer so he can gather Timmy in his arms, strangely missing his touch even if he’s unaware of him leaving their bed. 

Timmy smiles into his neck and presses a gentle kiss on his Adam's apple. “Yes, I think I might even finish it tonight.” 

Armie takes a deep breath just to fill his nostrils with Timmy’s scent, his heart immediately thanking him for it, before turning his head towards the wall clock hanging over his office door. It’s past midnight. 

“You had a long day.” Armie remarks, kissing Timmy tenderly on the lips and then on the forehead. “I’ll get us some tea. Would you like that?”

They’re together for almost a year now, yet Timmy still blushes around him. Armie prays for it to never change. “Yes,” he answers and tilts his head to kiss Armie again, lingering this time. “I’d like that a lot.” 

Armie brushes his hair away from his face. “Madeleines, too?” 

Timmy nods, biting his lips as he smiles. “Yes, please.” He croaks out, extremely touched by the care. “You don’t have to stay up. I know you’re tired, too.” 

“Of course,” Armie concedes, moving to prepare to rise on his feet but takes Timmy’s face in his hands first. “But I want to. I’ll wait so we can go to bed together.” He kissed him again and they exchanged small smiles, before Armie walked to the kitchen and prepared them some tea. 

One of the things Armie picked up from dating Timmy is just what tea he would like to have at a certain mood. Armie can barely tell them apart, especially since he dumps too much honey or milk or sugar anyway, but still, he took note. Tonight, Armie brewed them a pot of chamomile, then prepared enough madeleines in a small cookie jar and took the tray back to the studio. Timmy greets him with a grateful smile, and Armie feels his greed rising, wanting more of the reverence from Timmy’s face. So he does more, he pours him his cup and puts just the right amount of honey that Timmy likes, before handing him his cup. He also slides the madeleines towards him before pouring his own. 

Timmy puts his cup down after a long sip, and takes Armie’s hand in his. “I love you, Armie.” He brings their hands to his mouth and kisses Armie’s knuckles. “And thank you. For loving me, above all.” 

Armie shakes his head, smiling and brimming with happiness. As if he’d have it any other way. 

*******

Staying over each other’s place did nothing to prepare them for what it would be like to actually live together. Now that they’re living in the same space, all the experiences seem to have intensified. Coming home to each other and waking up together were nothing new, as is spending their day in the apartment or leaving at the same time for work. What’s new though, is waking up to a shared space; their bed, their bathroom, their kitchen, their living room. It’s different now because there’s no telling where one’s ownership ends and the other’s begins. It allows for smoother dynamics between them, to have their home built from a labor of love. 

That’s not to say that they don’t drive each other crazy. Of course it happens, some stupid argument about a persistent habit, or a forgotten errand, or a mindless jab. It comes out of nowhere most days, and some arguments are more heated than the others. Still, every bit of this simply disintegrates to insignificance in comparison to how blindingly happy they are together. Armie, for all the other things he does perfectly, would never walk away without telling Timmy that he loves him, especially when fighting and they have to part for whatever reason while in the middle of it. Timmy, for all his sudden outbursts, would always take a step back and apologize for more than just his part in a fight. Loving is so much hard work , but it’s also fulfilling. They take care of each other despite their own exhaustion. They do tasks for each other out of consideration. They do things the other likes in particular, like Armie staying in the studio to keep Timmy company as he works, or like Timmy who plays classical music to ease Armie’s tension. 

One of the things that make a home are the pictures. They tell stories, they bring back memories, they remind people of a good time. It was one of the ways that Timmy unknowingly filled in a gap for Armie. He grew up not having anything more than stiff family portraits to update their walls with. When they moved in together and received the box of pictures from Timmy’s parents, he immediately set on to buy picture frames to scatter around their apartment, the biggest one on top of the fireplace, the one they got taken during Christmas. There are photos of them at nearly every direction one might turn to; it might be a date, dinner, a travel, a holiday, a casual picture, a night out. One common element throughout each of it would be the intimacy of the shots, the tenderness of the moments they captured on film. Armie stops to stare at them most days, still in awe of the love he found. 

Being in your twenties provides you with all the excuses to make as many mistakes as you want, to be as stupid as you please. It’s somehow a free pass, because it’s supposedly a learning curve, so when it’s time to finally slow down, you’re wiser. This applies, more than in anything else, in love. It’s never to be rushed, always better to have it when matured. What Timmy thinks Armie doesn’t realize is that he's no longer lost trying to find the right trail to that destination. He’s arrived. Timmy, in his first relationship in adulthood, landed Armie on his first try. Literally no one should hold that against him, least of all Armie. And he knows, with absolute certainty, that he is by no means missing out on his youth. What everyone else is not counting is the fact that a lot of the waste aways in your twenties isn't fundamentally because it’s what you want, but because there’s nothing else to do. It’s all borne of trying to chase a deep-seated joy and thrill, but Timmy’s already found him a lasting one. He’s content, and would gladly thank whoever’s in charge on his knees everyday for giving him Armie. 

Living together just proved them both right. And then, there goes the sex. 

Loving each other does nothing to guarantee compatibility in bed, just the same with the other way around. Some treat sex just as an accessory to love, while others depend on it for physical intimacy. On the other hand, good sex sometimes comes particularly if you’re not romantically involved. Both Timmy and Armie are aware of these, having had their fair share of relationships in the past. In the beginning, at the back of their heads, they wondered if waiting actually just made them lose their room for error, which of course, they couldn’t be more wrong about. They love each other, and then they have explosive, mindblowing sex. It could be a quickie or a hard fuck or making love; they are always positively dazed afterwards. Maybe it’s because they’re both pretty good in bed, or that Armie worships Timmy or that Timmy is extremely eager to please. Living together didn’t change much of anything about that, but it does add a little more spice to it. Now that they own their space, they’ve pretty much let loose on experimenting with toys and kinks, and if you’re a guest and you’re told off a particular cabinet, for your sake please just listen. 

*******

“Our anniversary is next week,” Timmy says absently as he stares at the calendar on his phone. 

Armie scowls. “Isn’t that next month?” 

Affronted, Timmy lifts his head, only to roll his eyes at the teasing grin on Armie’s face. “Dickbag,” he grumbles, flicking a crumb across the table. 

Armie laughs at his reaction. “Come on now, angel. Of course I know.” 

“Yeah, yeah, your favorite hobby just so happens to be an annoying prick.” Timmy says, glaring impatiently at Armie who’s still snorting with amusement. 

“Okay, hey,” he puts up a finger to hold Timmy’s attention. “I’ve already cleared out my schedule on our anniversary. You have me.” 

Surprised, Timmy asks “Really?” Pushing his luck, he adds “Can you do a week?” 

Armie blinks, though he evidently doesn’t think it through. “I’ll do anything for you.” He responds as he proceeds to compose a text to Jenny. 

“Remember the villa we have in Italy?” Timmy runs his toes up and down Armie’s calf under the table. “How do you feel about an Italian summer in a secluded property with me?” 

“Say no more,” Armie dials Jenny immediately, pushing that his schedule definitely must be cleared for the week of their anniversary, and he’s not taking no for an answer. 

Timmy laughs as he watches him negotiate his schedule, clearing their table to get their dishes to wash. Armie is pacing the kitchen, holding a glass of water because he drinks an alarming amount of it in the morning, and reviewing his schedule just from memory. 

“No, no, I finished that, remember? The one with - yes, that one. It’s a done deal.” Armie pauses to finish his water and brings the glass to the sink so he can stand beside Timmy. He holds his arm out, and Timmy ducks automatically so Armie can drape his arm over his shoulder. “I can take care of that today - yes, I’m coming in today, Jenny it’s just eight, I’ll make it - and that other proposal can be reviewed by Viktor. Send it his way.” 

Timmy can’t follow this conversation if he tried, so he just occupied himself by leaning against Armie’s sturdy torso, breathing slowly as he enjoys their morning. He feels Armie nose on his temples, then kiss the top of his head, before pulling away to talk again. Still, it made Timmy sigh and melt against him. 

“Yeah, I can take it, it’s fine. I’ve done it before.” Armie says into the line. “Yeah, I’ll take the entire week. Jen! No, don’t tell dad. I’m going to fire myself and don’t cry to me when you’re forced to have him as your boss.” 

Despite himself, Timmy laughs at that, shaking slightly. He goes willingly when Armie pulls him tighter, his hands wrapping around his waist immediately and snuggling against his chest. “Any luck?” Timmy asks when Armie hangs up. 

Grinning, Armie answers “Yup! Wanna have sex?” 

“Yeah, let’s.” 

They’re already kicking off their sweatpants before the exchange finished, knowing they have very limited time. Armie bends him over the counter once they’re naked, parting his ass and rimming him eagerly while his hand works his dick. Shakily, Timmy fumbles with the drawer where he knows they keep lube and condoms in, taking it out to hand over to Armie. There’s clear intent to make this a quickie, as Timmy can hear Armie jerking himself off while his other hand joins his tongue in his ass in splitting him open with his fingers. When he hears the condom ripping, Timmy relaxes his body to receive him, and they groan together as Armie pushes all the way in. Bracing himself, Timmy grips the counter as Armie begins to thrust quickly from behind, his lips attached on his nape as he tenderly kisses on the expanse of his spine. It was achingly sweet in contrast to the frantic pace they’re going, and Armie’s hand wraps around his dick, getting him off and catching it on his palm. It doesn’t take longer for Armie to come, burying himself in Timmy as he moans through his orgasm, spasming slightly before gathering him in his arms and cleaning them off. 

It’s obviously not going to save Armie time by showering together, but there you go. At least Timmy dressed him up. If you’re late for work, at least show up looking really fucking good. 

*******

Attending formal events together started pretty early in the relationship, somewhere past the one month mark. From there, Armie has accompanied Timmy to countless shows, exhibits and charity dinners. Similarly, Armie has also brought Timmy along to business functions. It is very rare though, for their worlds to collide, especially with how much they keep an eye on not letting it happen under their noses. 

An exception has been made for Saoirse. Well, not exactly. Her movie recently wrapped up, and they’re holding publicity events left and right. One of the partners, it turned out, was Hammer Museum, mainly because the movie revolves around art and expression, and it was a logical deal to make when the production looks promising. She invited Timmy to come, mainly to tease him for not putting two and two together when they started dating, to which Armie cheerfully agreed to, because he really loved annoying Timmy for some reasons. Whatever, she agrees. 

“How far along in the post-production?” Timmy asks as he looks over the technical team huddled together. Armie is just standing by his side and browsing through his emails. 

This being her first major movie, Saoirse is really eager to get involved in the process. “Music now, I think. Very nearly done.” 

Timmy looks very interested for a second then his face falls. “Ugh, and you can’t even tell me what they’re including.” 

“Nope, sorry. But! You can take my word for it. When it's that part where it’s on contemporary art, the music is immaculate.” Saoirse sighs, remembering her experience in filming. 

“You can appease me with gossip. Did anyone hook up? Or did you fight?” Timmy leans forward, eyes shining with excitement. “Fights sound good, too.” 

Armie actually perks up at that. “Ooh, beef.” 

This, Saoirse can talk about. Eyeing them both, she says “Oh my God, you would not believe how big of a diva Doryn actually is. Like, one major nomination and she’s already walking all over everyone. I think the only reason why she wasn’t fired was because her agent’s pretty solid.” 

“What about Moritz?” Armie asks gleefully, and Timmy glares. “What? I thought we agreed he’s very good looking.” 

“You’re way too happy about this.” Timmy chides and looks him up and down. 

“He’s a darling. Do you want to meet him? We became good friends.” Saoirse offers, just so she can egg on Timmy. 

Timmy elbows Armie just as he opens his mouth to answer. “Now you’re just being annoying. Besides, I also know German. None of you all stand a chance.” 

“Okay, now you’re not playing fair.” Armie whines, stepping forward. 

“Hush and drink your champagne.” Timmy retorts. “No but seriously, are you considering Gloria now?” 

Saoirse smiles then shrugs. “I only have a few months left with Emily, so I’ll ride that out and then I’ll move.” 

Timmy opens his arms. “That’s great! Oh my God, she mentioned so many things she wanted to get you into!” 

Giddy, Saoirse steps into the hug and squeezes her best friend. “Oh, I _know,_ she’s been on and on about it that I’ve considered breaching my contract four times now.” 

“Well luckily,” Armie motions vaguely with his hand, smiling at her. 

“Luckily,” Saoirse agrees and returns his smile. Her eyes caught sight of the art team, the one she got on with best, and she felt her face light up. “Oh my God, Timmy, you’ve got to meet them! Misha and Dianne are from Juilliard, too.” 

Before Timmy could answer, Saoirse is already walking towards them, her arms reaching forward the moment their eyes meet. She had a great time around them, primarily because they’re a young team and, well, British. It’s close enough, whatever, at least they have a common ground which basically means they roast each other just for kicks, then drink loads of tea. The head of the team, Yves, is talking to a woman in corporate clothes that do not look like they're from the movie or the guests. 

“What’s up? Are we getting on the private collections now?” Saoirse asks excitedly, peering over at Yves who’s still discussing. 

Dianne rolls her eyes while Misha huffs, both equally irritated. “Yeah, they’re having a problem right now. Some bureaucratic stuff.” She looks behind her, acknowledging the company. “Are these your friends?” 

Saoirse doesn’t feel like she can contribute anyway so she lets it pass, turning to introduce them instead. “Yup! You’ll be delighted, he’s Timmy, well, Timothée Chalamet, also from Juilliard, and this is his best accessory and boyfriend Armie.” 

Timmy actually looked embarrassed at the introduction, but Armie just opened his arms wide to indicate himself and accepted it. “Please, it’s Timmy.” 

Dianne giggles at him as she accepts the handshake. “Dianne, this is Misha, we’re batchmates in Juilliard, arts. You?” 

“Nice to meet you,” Timmy answers politely. “Music, mainly, professionally I do visual arts, too.” 

Misha’s face lights up, delighted with the information. “Oh that’s amazing! Paintings? Sculptures?” 

Shrugging, Timmy answers “Both.” 

“Hey you!” Dianne looks beyond thrilled and throws Saoirse a surprised look. “Sculptures,” she points to herself, and then Misha. “Painting.” 

“That’s to say we’d get along well, I hope.” Timmy charmingly responds, returning their enjoyment with his smile. 

“Get along? We’re adopting you.” Misha motions them forward. “Anyway, is it true that this is your boyfriend? He is? Damn, you did well.” 

Dianne hits Misha on the arm chidingly. “You really jumped on it.” 

“Ooh, that’s a no no. Timmy here is quite the jealous kind.” Saoirse chimes in, because she lives for Timmy’s mortification. 

“I was just checking!” Misha protested. 

Timmy is already red in the face, hiding behind Armie’s arm as said boyfriend just watches the team with amusement. Saoirse is ready to kickstart another banter, but she sees Yves sigh from the corner of her eyes and finally join them. 

“Hey, Yves!” Saoirse greets fondly, then gets a better view on his face, and he looks pretty dejected. “Yves?” 

Yves blinks, then waves at Saoirse. “Sorry, I might be terrible company from here on. Bureaucracy,” he gestures to the museum, resigned. “Oh, new people, hello. Yves Weld.” 

“Uh, hi,” Timmy clears his throat, unsure of himself. “Timmy, my boyfriend, Armie.” He introduced them in haste. Yves acknowledged them with a curt nod. 

The woman speaks, though her face clearly does not match the sympathy she applies to her tone. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Weld, we’re sorry, but certain things need to be accounted for before we grant you into the-”

“I know-” Yves cuts off, then breathes in to take hold of his emotions. “I’m sorry, too. I know what you said. It’s not what I was informed with, and certainly not what this team agreed to, but there’s nothing to be done, is there? When you’re standing in the way like this. I can offer you _nothing._ ” 

Saoirse whips her head around, alarmed and concerned. “What’s going on?” She looks to Misha and Dianne, but the woman speaks again before they can react. 

“The partnership only provides for so much. Access to more exclusive parts of the museum is not covered by it, for sensitive reasons. Also, explicit permission. It is, after all, private.” She takes a moment to look at each person in their group, as if to drive her point. 

It’s hard to miss the way Armie straightened where he stood, looming over them effectively as his eyes narrow at the corporate lady. “No,” he says. 

Saoirse literally felt dizzy, because she knows Armie as that goofball who’s madly in love with her best friend and acts like an idiot every fifteen minutes of the day for shits and giggles. It’s so easy to forget that he’s actually an affluent business magnate, from an illustrious family, and also the owner of this goddamn museum. Of course he’ll have something to say now. 

The woman stares back, tilting her head in question. “Come again?” 

“You have the permission. It is _encouraged,_ even.” All the traces of ease and friendliness in Armie’s stance are replaced by a chilling professional and stoic facade. 

“I’m sorry, are you part of their team?” The woman asks, not having the apparent challenge on her authority. 

“Your team, actually.” Armie responds offhandedly, more focused on stepping close to Timmy so he can whisper “Excuse me for a moment, angel? Ten minutes, tops.” 

“If you can provide an ID, we can verify that.” The woman holds her palm out, but Armie is already crossing towards her and pulling it out of his suit pocket. 

“Discretion, please?” Armie says under his breath, clearly not wanting the entire group to be up their discussion but they’re heard anyway. 

The reaction is instantaneous. The woman froze in shock and paled dangerously fast. “Sir, we-”

“Open it. It’s part of the contract. _That’s_ how it works.” Armie orders sternly, still keeping his voice respectably low but not losing the edge to it. 

“Yes, sir but-”

“Can you tell me, in full confidence, that if I review the deal, you would be absolutely correct to ask this of this team?” 

Saoirse stood with everyone else, gaping and absolutely floored, but at least she knows a little better than some. Clearly, Armie must’ve reviewed this event, even in passing, because it concerns Timmy no matter how indirectly. He’s attentive like that.

“Sir, maybe we should take this to the executive office. It’s-” The woman looks like she’s breaking out in sweat now. 

“I’m on a date.” Armie dismissed curtly. 

Yves couldn’t take it anymore, stepping in finally. “Wait, I’m sorry. What’s going on? Armie? You’re in _their_ team?” He sounds distressed, probably ready to lash out. 

Quickly, Armie fixes his face into a courteous and apologetic smile. “So to speak, though not directly. I’m very sorry about this, I’ll see to it that it’s sorted right away.” He turns again to the woman, returning to speaking low. “Uphold your end of the contract. Also, I will send a probe for extortion as soon as possible.” 

“Sir, no, the Museum-”

“Honestly, for your sake, don’t speak without a lawyer. Are we done?” Armie is visibly peeved now. The woman nods furiously. 

“I think,” Yves starts, waving around a finger. “I think I’ve missed a few key steps here. You’re Timmy’s boyfriend and now a part of the museum? Excuse me if I’m lost.” 

Armie shakes his head like it’s no big deal. “No, no, please. It did escalate. Armand Hammer, owner and CEO.” 

“I’ll be damned. So when you said indirectly part of the team, that’s what you meant.” Yves sounded breathless, somewhere between relief and astonishment. 

Yves, Armie and the woman are at least a few paces away, but that doesn’t stop the conversation from being heard on both sides. 

“Wait what? You said he’s your boy toy!” Misha points at Timmy accusingly. 

“Fuck,” Dianne breathes out, staring at Armie. 

“Dibs on that, excuse me.” Timmy points a finger at the two in warning, but obviously amused. 

Misha clicks her tongue at him, dismayed. “You better let him dom you and tell the world, just to heal it, once and for all.” 

*******

Before the news about his leave could reach his father, Armie has already wrapped everything up in the office and sorted all the files that he’d leave behind. Viktor and Jenny covered for him pretty well, intercepting their workload and making sure that the news of Armie disappearing for a week would only be known the night that he’s flying out. Since Saoirse’s publicity event at the museum brought them to L.A, Armie thought to spend the night in his childhood house, then fly to Italy from there. 

The property sits by the cliff; a massive modern house with stained cedar and traditional stucco exterior, then glass walls facing the beach and a luxurious pool just below the view deck that stretches all around the second floor. Timmy actually stopped and stared when he saw it, taken by the sheer size and grandiose of the house and the magnificent view that came with it. 

“This is the house you grew up in?” Timmy asks, their luggage just left in the car as they come up to Armie’s room. 

The staff came up to them immediately, new ones, Armie notes, but he only waves them off, assuring them that they can rest since it’s getting late. Besides, he can take care of their needs if anything comes up. 

Armie does take a look around, finding it in himself to appreciate the place. “Yeah, pretty impressive, huh?”

“That’s putting it lightly. The location, too!” Timmy stops in the middle of the stairs to look over the horizon. Though dark, the sky is still clear enough that it makes the view of the sea shine. 

Honestly, Armie knows every nook and cranny of this place, and basically used to all of it already. He’s more interested now in how Timmy is reacting. It doesn’t even matter if it’s the house that he doesn’t have a lot of good memories in. “Pity we’re not staying long?” 

Timmy frowns suddenly, then turns to him. “You don’t like it here.” He points out, stepping down to wrap his arms around his waist. 

“I don’t feel too strongly about this place, actually, especially now that my parents aren’t here.” Armie confessed, knowing exactly how depressing that sounds but it’s the truth. 

“Then it’s good we won’t stay long.” Timmy leans forward and kisses him sweetly. “Let’s go to bed.” 

“Is that a proposition?” Armie pulls Timmy back before he could go up the stairs, cupping his ass. 

“Maybe,” Timmy drawls out, grinding their groins together, the material of their suits giving way easily to the outlines of their dicks. “I kinda like how authoritative you are earlier. You’re very hot when you take control. I love it.”

“No, angel. You just like men with jobs.”

“No, I like them owners and CEOs.” 

“Good place to start.” Armie dives down to Timmy’s mouth, pushing his tongue inside and humming into the kiss, enough to tip Timmy off completely into the mood. 

When they parted, Timmy was panting on his collarbone. Armie smirks and ushers them to his bedroom. 

To think that Armie had a bedroom this huge growing up is outrageous. Adults in New York pay thousands for a place smaller than this, which is completely not the point. The two huge factors behind their spectacular sex life are their willingness to communicate and to try. Timmy is a very vocal partner, comfortable in his sexuality and never shy about what he likes. And if tonight he’s feeling like giving the reins to Armie, not a word of complaint will be heard. 

“Nuh-uh,” Armie scolds when Timmy makes a move to jump him again after reaching his bedroom. “I’m calling the shots tonight, remember?”

Timmy bites his lips impatiently but listens anyway. “Do you want me to call you ‘sir’ too?” He teased. 

“No need for that, angel. I quite like hearing you moan my name.” Armie answers, stripping off his jacket and undoing his tie. He makes a show of unbuttoning his shirt as he sees Timmy’s eyes cross as he watches, following the movement of Armie’s fingers as he takes his shirt off and moves to undoing his pants. “Tell me what you want.” 

Breathing shakily, Timmy replies with “I want you to take what you want.” 

Armie nods, pushing his pants down but leaving his boxers on. “I can do that, but I need you to speak too. If it’s uncomfortable, if you want something else done, if there’s something you need from me, say it.” He negotiates firmly. “Do I have your word?” 

“Yes, yes, I promise.” Timmy nods eagerly, his pants tenting with his erection but still keeps his hands to his sides. 

“Then start now.” Armie prompts, sitting on the foot of the bed. 

“I want to touch you.” Timmy is already moving towards him, though slowly in case Armie objects. “I want you to kiss me.” 

Armie motions him forward, and it’s not long before Timmy climbs on the bed, his knees on each side of Armie’s thighs as he straddles him, hands cupping his jaw. Armie lets his hand creep from Timmy’s thighs then up to his stomach and chest. He enjoys the anticipation in Timmy’s face as he peels off his jacket, then opening his shirt just enough that his skin shows. Leaning forward, Armie kisses Timmy right on the sternum, slowly trailing up to his collarbones, then on his neck, nibbling gently and inhaling him before continuing with languid kisses. Timmy’s eyes are already half-closed, and he’s staring at Armie with heavy eyes as he breathes heavily through his open mouth. Unable to resist, Armie finally puts their lips together, taking control of the kiss by overpowering Timmy with the movements of their mouths, slipping in his tongue and making sure it bends Timmy to submission. 

Keening, Timmy begins to seek friction for his crotch, crouching to sit on Armie’s lap, but he stops him by holding him back up again with his thighs. Making use of this grip, Armie picks Timmy up and momentarily stands up, only to sit him down on the mattress and stand over him. 

“Why don’t you strip as I get the condom and lube? Then lie down in the middle of the bed.” Armie doesn’t wait for compliance before turning away. He doesn’t trust himself to completely hold back with that sight, so he’ll just have to rely on hearing Timmy strip and shuffle on the bed. 

When they were packing, Armie was the one who took care of their supplies, because Timmy was too busy with planning which outfits they should bring. “Do touch yourself, angel. I’m having trouble finding it, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

“Of course,” Timmy’s tongue is immediately out after he replied, bringing his fingers into his mouth and begins to coat it generously with his saliva. He moves this hand to his dick, repeating it until he feels the length to be wet enough. Because he’s an overachiever, Timmy did the same with his other hand so he can tease his hole, slicking the perineum and almost breaching with his index finger but never pushing in all the way. 

Armie’s so hard in boxers that he begins to question if this is even worth it. He wants to just get on his knees and give Timmy everything he wants. Still, he quips “Clever boy.” 

Taking the lube and condom to the bed, Armie simply sits on the side and watches as Timmy pleasures himself with his hands jerking his dick off and rubbing on his asshole. 

“Armie, please, I need-” Timmy pants out, his chest rising rapidly that he grips the base of his cock. 

Wordlessly, Armie scoots closer and pours a generous amount of lube on the shaft, letting it drip down to his balls and finally to his hole. “Better?” 

Timmy shakes his head vehemently. His hips are coming off the bed with how hard he’s stimulating himself. “You, please, please touch me. It’s not enough, I’m-”

Well, that’s a hard request to turn down. “Spread your legs wider. Put your hands above your head and grip on the headboard. Don’t remove it from there unless I tell you.” 

Timmy complied right away and nodded his head eagerly to show that he can comprehend properly. 

“Tell me if anything hurts or makes you uncomfortable.” Armie reminds him, tenderly kissing him on the forehead before slipping his fingers between his thighs, purposefully ignoring his cock. Timmy still nods in acknowledgment, making Armie hum. He wants something for tonight, and if he plays it right, he’ll get it. 

Armie begins to push in with his index finger, touching the walls with the length of it making Timmy squirm. Putting his forearm against his abdomen, Armie pins his hips down on the bed as he keeps moving his finger inside his ass. It makes Timmy flex his legs, his toes curling, and Armie figures it’s time for another, pushing his middle finger to join inside. When he starts to scissors, Timmy’s knees are rising from the bed, then Armie curls them, just enough that he knows it would graze his prostate. Timmy gasps loudly, trying to get Armie’s fingers to touch it again by rolling his hips. 

“Is this what you want, angel?” Armie crooks his fingers and presses right into it, making Timmy shout. 

“Shit! Yes, there, there, ah!” Timmy’s back arches, then collapses back on the sheet when Armie takes the pressure away. 

Taking his forearm away, Armie reaches for the lube and squeezes it to his fingers half buried in Timmy’s ass. “Think I can put in another?” Armi straightens his ring finger so the tip rubs around the hole, but not pushing. 

“Yes, I want it. Please put in more.” Timmy, the ballet-trained son of a gun, lifts his legs into the air and stretches them open, his toes pointed so delicately that the entire move looked graceful and mesmerizing. 

Armie moved between them and kissed along the insides of his thighs, then spread him open with the two fingers the third could push in. He allowed Timmy to get used to it, twisting them around in his hole until Armie felt him relax. When Timmy starts moving his hips to get the fingers deeper, Armie bites on the skin up his inner thigh, immediately shooting him down on the bed. His forearm returns on pinning Timmy by the pelvis, and then begins to push in his fingers. Armie starts languidly, dragging it slowly and picking up pace that it starts to make an obscene sound. Obediently, Timmy is still gripping on the headboard, making Armie smile and thrust his hand harder, just to see if there would be a give. Timmy’s breath caught in his chest but he only holds on tighter, so Armie twists his fingers to drive him crazy by hitting his spot at every jab, making sure he slips in all the way to the knuckles. Timmy’s eyes widened at the stimulation, unprepared for the unrelenting interval that Armie is applying pressure inside him that he shudders violently, his legs kicking out again and he comes with loud, hiccuped moans. 

“Very good, angel.” Armie tells him, kissing gently up his thighs and up to where the come streaks landed. He waits for Timmy to open his eyes before he lays his tongue flat on his skin, maintaining eye contact as he licks him clean and hums as he goes. 

Timmy’s legs are still twitching on the sheets, his chest rising and falling quickly with the intensity of coming untouched. “My arms,” he mumbles, nearly incoherent and drowsy but he still tries. “Numb.” He rolls his shoulders, but barely. 

Armie comes up and covers him with his body, allowing himself some friction by dragging his crotch along Timmy’s flank as he cradles his face. “Let go now, rest your hands on your side. Think you can go another?” 

“Too soon?” Timmy answers uncertainly as he tries to catch his breath. 

Humming, Armie peppers kisses all over his face, then plants one on his lips. “Why don’t we find out?” 

Armie returns between Timmy’s legs, hooking the left one over his shoulder so his hips lift just the slightest. His fingers return in his hole, back down to two, just keeping the stretching and scissoring. Timmy’s dick is limp on his groin, losing its hardness bit by bit, and Armie bends down, using his free hand to guide it into his mouth. Oversensitive, Timmy hisses and flinches hard that he pushes up on his elbows, one arm reaching then pulling back and doing it again, wanting to push off the stimulation but helpless with the pleasure as Armie sucks his dick into his mouth. 

Perhaps it’s because Timmy is still pretty young that he manages it, but Armie is still surprised that returning to the pace of fingering Timmy matched with a slow blowjob got his dick to slowly fill out again. Feeling it harden in his mouth, Armie suckles with more enthusiasm, taking it all the way to his throat and humming, all the while moving his fingers inside to press on Timmy’s prostate. 

“Can you get on your knees for me, angel?” Armie asks, removing his fingers from Timmy’s ass and stroking on his mildly twitching legs. 

Timmy shakes his head frantically. “Not yet, I’m-”

Armie nods, understanding. His head must be swimming right now, dizzy from his body’s response to the stimulation and completely out of breath. “Can you brace yourself then?” Timmy flexes his limbs, his core tightening as he waits for Armie to do what he wants. Smiling, Armie coos “Very good.” 

Picking him up by the waist, Armie switches them so he’s leaning against the headboard, Timmy on his lap, pliant and drowsy. Armie checks on him first, rubbing the expanse of his back, then along his flanks, kissing from his core up to his chest and neck, softly, all in an attempt to gauge his state. 

“Hmm, feels good.” Timmy grumbles, forcing his eyes open that his lashes fluttered with it. “Will you fuck me now?” He grinds their hips together, Armie’s dick snug between his ass cheeks while his own rests between their stomachs. 

Armie is pleased that Timmy is not out of it, but it’s still better to verify than merely trust. “Tell me how you’re feeling first, and we’ll see.” 

“Really good,” Timmy nuzzles his face into Armie’s, kissing along his bone structure. “Floaty. I want more.” 

Armie takes a handful of Timmy’s hair and pulls, making him groan loudly. He smashed their mouths together, making out with him intensely and smiling as he felt Timmy move his lips eagerly with his. _Responsive,_ Armie confirms, finally lubricating himself and rolling on a condom. Timmy actually stopped kissing him to look over his back, arching and lifting his ass as Armie poured another load of lube before guiding his dick to his ass. 

Even though there’s little resistance, Armie didn’t push all the way. Instead, he settles for slow, shallow thrusts, taking his time with the penetration as Timmy continues to mewl on his lap. Timmy’s limbs are still limp around him, his arms just draping over Armie’s chest while his legs are folded delicately on the sheets. Still, he’s moving his hips to match Armie’s thrusts, working to get him deeper and deeper. Armie can tell shortly after being sheathed completely that Timmy would be moving on his own accord. He waits for it, keeps an eye on his arms and legs, and when he sees Timmy put his weight on it to set the pace, he grabs the side of his hips and squeezes tight until he feels his fingers dig into the flesh. 

Armie pulls him by the hair again, craning his neck and biting hard. “Did I say you can?” 

Timmy shakes his head, huffing out his breaths as the shock from the bite slowly ebbs away. 

“Is this what you want?” Armie releases his hair so he can put both hands on Timmy’s pelvis, lifting him off until to the very tip then slamming him back down. Timmy inhales sharply, moaning when Armie’s dick goes all the way in. “Answer, angel. I’m waiting.” 

“Yes, please.” Timmy breathes out, his voice raspy and low. 

Armie occupies him with a kiss as he takes a hold of Timmy’s ass, cupping it and using the grip to bounce him on his cock. Their kiss breaks when Timmy begins to moan in his mouth, then his head falls back following a particularly hard thrust and his eyes roll to the back of his head. Armie enjoyed watching him, seeing the pleasure ripple through his lithe body, flushed down to his torso and trembling lightly with every slam of his dick. He keeps up the pace, bouncing him up and down the length of his dick and angling it just right to hit Timmy where it would make him see stars behind his eyes. His breath is also stuttering, his moans broken that they turn into successive whimpers as Armie continues to drive his dick inside. 

Despite being dangerously on edge, Timmy still keeps his hands resting on Armie’s torso, mentally present enough to not touch himself without being told to. Armie feels the need to commend him for this, kissing along the skin that he can reach as Timmy still rides his dick. 

Stopping his thrusts, Armie sits Timmy on his cock that his ass presses on his thighs. “Angel, look at me. Good. Ready to get on your knees?” 

Timmy’s reaction time is still pretty reasonable, his eyes widening after the sentence and nodding eagerly. Armie smiles, slothing their mouths together as he lifts Timmy off his dick. He strokes his dick as he watches Timmy support his weight on all fours. Timmy knows this position means it’s a brutal fuck and he’s thrilled by it. All Armie had to do was bid his time until Timmy felt more like himself to take it. 

Crawling over his back, Armie nosed along Timmy’s spine until he reaches his nape, kissing softly as he pushes back inside his hole. Timmy arches into him instantly, rocking back to his dick and moaning. Armie bites again, this time on his shoulder, and before Timmy could fully react he takes him by the hips and starts pounding. Timmy positively howls from the force of it, struggling to stay upright on his elbows as his breaths are forced out of him with every thrust. The response only spurs Armie further, slamming harder and harder into Timmy that he twists on one elbow so he can reach his dick. 

Not having it, Armie catches his wrist, then bends down to take the other, and pulled Timmy upright by holding his wrists over his back like reins, fucking him like that. He knows this position couldn’t be comfortable, even if Timmy is pretty fucking bendy, since his shoulders numbed when Armie told him to grip the headboard earlier, so Armie pistons his hips harshly, getting in as much brutal thrusts as he can until Timmy screams. He bends forward to bury his face on the pillows, muffling his moans and shouts as Armie continues to pound him from behind, his arms stretched backwards to keep him up. 

“Give yourself a little something, go on.” Armie tells him as he releases Timmy’s wrists. 

When Timmy reaches between his legs to jerk himself off, Armie covers Timmy’s back with his chest and slides his palm under his neck, not lifting him up or moving him. Armie puts his weight on one arm planted right beside Timmy’s head, while the other remains on his neck. He keeps up his brutal pace until Timmy is reduced to low whines, and then he squeezes his neck, choking him delicately that Timmy comes breathlessly. His body trembles even after he’s emptied himself on the sheets, then falls limp. Armie takes him by the torso and rolls them on the bed, so he’s on his back while Timmy lies boneless on top of him. He hooks his arms under Timmy’s knees and forces his legs apart, resuming his thrusts while Timmy just takes it, his hand reaching for Armie’s head and pulling him to kiss on his neck. Armie drives his hips brutally, feeling his own orgasm rising, until he finally comes while buried deep, his own legs trembling with the force of it. 

“Did I live up to it?” Armie knows he did, but he likes to gloat, especially since there’s no denying it when Timmy is literally putty on his chest, panting and fucked out of his mind. 

“You’re a fucking animal. Misha’s right. This could heal the world, once and for all.” Timmy is not making sense at all, but it’s funny anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie is so detached with his childhood bedroom that he fucked so hard in it without even being bothered for one second. Legendary parenting right there.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaahhhhh hallo 🥺 two more to go, and we’re going to be down on sparse time stamps that will be nowhere near the same regularity as the fic. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Love you all for leaving comments, they really do fuel me in writing. Thank you! x
> 
> P.S also lmaooo y’all really came for my neck that they still use condoms HAHAHAH sorry it was sort of ingrained in me

Italy is breathtaking. Armie has only ever been south most of the time, simply because it’s the more popular side to go to. Northern Italy, however, is like moving through the veil of time, and suddenly it’s a different era where life is calmer and their days longer. They were picked up by one of the caretakers of the villa, an elderly man who drove them in an old but surprisingly well-maintained and functional car. Timmy says he only speaks Italian, and so does the cook in the villa, so Armie should start figuring out basic words or prepare himself to play charades at every interaction he wants. 

There’s an undeniable timelessness to the town that’s enhanced significantly by the lack of crowd or buzz. The towering medieval structures and houses are only either snug together or far apart, the windows and the doors kept open to let the breeze in. People walk and and stop by to chat, then walk some more to do it again with different people. The small town culture of everyone knowing everyone is evident, and there goes their residences seemingly open permanently to any visitor. It’s so quintessentially Italian, in a way that it’s so rich in culture and history that make you realize the famous spots are fabricated with simply the idea of Italy, but not the essence and reality of it. 

If Armie thought that the town itself is already stunning, then he’s definitely not prepared for how devastatingly beautiful the 17th century villa is. It’s a gated property, but so far from the actual house that it’s a proper stroll to go back and forth. There’s lush vegetation all around it, fruits ripe for picking, flowers blooming all around, a steady stream of water to a stone pool. 

“This is a dream.” Armie stands in front of the villa, gaping at as much as his vision can reach. 

Timmy chuckles behind him. “Am I domesticating you into a small town life now?” He teased, stepping into Armie’s personal space and tucking himself under his arm. 

Armie laughs at that, feeling Timmy’s arm around his waist as he pulls him up so they can kiss. “You know what? I think it might be good.” 

“Is that so?” Timmy urges, looking up at him expectantly. 

“Yes,” Armie stares back, smiling. “Bet, I’ll buy a European countryside property within this year.” 

Timmy erupts in laughter. “Bet,” he agrees. 

*******

When Timmy swings the door open to his room, he nearly falls to his knees on the floor, laughing. Armie is trailing behind him, carrying the heavier load of their luggage, and still unaware of the sorry state of things. It’s not such a mess, quite the opposite actually. The room is well-kept and tidy, though with enough clutter for it to be characteristically Timmy’s. What he forgot about was the fact that his room has two twin beds, and something about it just hilariously make them look like underaged boys who would sneak around to have sex. 

“What’s so funny?” Armie asks as he walks the corridor to the room. 

Timmy waves his hand around, pushing himself up against the door. “It’s just that,” he gestures to the room and opens the door wider. “We’re going to have to push these twin beds together if we want to sleep together.” 

Armie’s face lights up and he starts laughing too. “Oh my God, we’re like two secret lovers in a medieval story.” They step in together and glance around the room. “So who’s going to play the virgin?” 

Snorting, Timmy replies “You’re invested in this already.” 

“Of course! I told you I wanted to be an actor.” Armie says without skipping a beat. “Do we still unpack?” 

Timmy walks to the wardrobe and opens it. “Eh, not much space here. Probably not.” 

“I agree.” Armie is already eyeing the bed, smiling meaningfully. 

It makes Timmy shake with giggles again. “This is so ridiculous.” 

“Well, we push it together or we stare at each other from a distance until we fall asleep.” Armie laughs with him, walking already to the other side of the bed near the window and nodding to the other near the door. “Come on, let’s get to work. We can roleplay the hell out of this vacation.” 

Timmy flings a pillow to his face. 

*******

Instead of enacting any of their sexual fantasies ( _his_ sexual fantasies, Timmy would insist), they actually just collapsed on the bed after arriving; too exhausted by the travel and the days that finally led to this trip. When Armie woke at dawn, it was to chirping birds and cool breeze, unfamiliar enough that his brain needed a few moments to catch up to reality as he blinked around the room. It really is a place out of time, and he just lies there for minutes as he strokes Timmy’s hair while his head rests on the crook of his neck. The house might as well be a movie set, with how picturesque it is, so aristocratic and refined but also lived in; the personal touches of the owners evident throughout the villa. 

Carefully, Armie turns his head so he can look at Timmy, who’s still fast asleep and snoring lightly on his neck. He smiles, unable to stop the urge to drop a kiss on his head as his hand caresses the arm draped over his stomach. He looks out to the open window to watch the trees sway lightly against the blow of the wind, the still gray skies barely streaked with clouds that promised a clear day ahead. It reminds him of his family’s property in the Cayman Islands, though for the wrong reasons.

Whenever they would be there, it was simply because his parents were starting to feel exhausted from dealing with them. They would come most times, but the beachhouse was enormous, and the land surrounding it even bigger that there’s always something they might occupy themselves with without running into each other. Nothing like this villa, but then again his family is nothing like Timmy’s anyway, so no surprise there. It does make him wonder though, down the line, which of the two will they turn out to be. 

There’s really no shaking off your family’s influences completely. The mark they leave on you stays with you forever, you just learn to live with it. Armie has had this for a year now and his parents’ voices could not be any fainter, but he appreciates that it’s there still. Somehow, it keeps his feet on the ground, keeps him from being complacent in his relationship. Just the thought of them makes his heart ache for Timmy, to give without being asked, to care without feeling obliged to. With the rate that they’re going, he’s pretty sure it’s not about to change anytime soon. 

Still, they are nine years apart. There’s still so much stretch of youth that your twenties offer, and Armie wants Timmy to have that. Of course they’ve gone through the topic of age countless times, and Timmy’s answer remains the same: he’s found it. Armie agrees. They both have verbalized that this is it for them, that they’re in this for as long as time would allow them. That’s a comfort in and of itself. They’ll get there when they get there. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Timmy grumbles sleepily, lifting his head so he can yawn before snuggling on Armie’s chest. “What got you frowning this early?” His fingers trace the lines on his forehead, easing them until Armie relaxes his face. 

“The future,” Armie answers, looking at Timmy as he gazes up at him from his chest. “And my hypothetical European property.” 

Timmy laughs. “Does it include me?” 

“Include you?” Armie asked like he’s scandalized. “Angel, you’re the main character.” 

*******

Knowing the routine of this house and quite frankly how easily sound travels through the halls, Timmy got off Armie with a blowjob and then had the favor returned as quickly as they could manage. It was a passing thought that Timmy verbalized as Armie hollowed his cheek to suck him, that their housekeeper would probably check for signs, and it ended on them both swallowing come as the first thing they ate upon arriving in Italy for their anniversary trip. Needless to say, they’re bent in half and laughing hysterically when the cook knocks on the door to call them for breakfast. 

“So we _are_ sneaking around to have sex.” Armie remarks as they descend from the stairs, fresh out of the shower and dressed in cropped shorts and summer shirts. 

Timmy runs a hand through his flushed face. “Well, in the morning. Then at night we have to be quiet.”

They can barely contain their laughter throughout breakfast. 

*******

They stayed at the outdoor dining table well after their breakfast was cleared away. It’s always a delight for Armie to listen to Timmy’s stories about his life, largely because he was raised in such a wholesome and accepting environment. Marc Chalamet first saw the property while on a tour with the UN. Three years later, he was back in Italy with Nicole for their wedding anniversary. It took him two more years before buying it, which was quite a task because he hid it from his wife. On their fifteenth wedding anniversary, Marc brought the entire family to Crema, Italy for a vacation. That was when he revealed to Nicole that he bought it as a gift. Timmy was about nine at that time. 

“Back then it didn’t really mean so much to me, right? I was nine.” Timmy says as he drinks his espresso. “And I wasn’t too interested in returning either, because I was a kid, and this is in the middle of nowhere.” 

Armie smiles, content with watching Timmy recall his memories. “You met Marzia here, though.” 

Timmy’s face lights up. “I did. It was even better because she’s also French, so I didn’t feel so bored anymore.” He paused to finish his drink, sighing as it went down his throat. “Before meeting them, I used to just read and play the piano and then back again.” 

“You don’t go around?” Armie asks. Even within the property, it’s still a pretty large space to play in. 

“In the first few years, I did. But then, limited to just around here,” Timmy motions to the enclosure of the gate. “Again, because I was young. And it’s such a huge property to keep me supervised.” 

“How about swimming?” Armie suggested, still not getting enough of the stories. 

Timmy looks to the direction of the pool and scrunches his nose. “That’s not too much fun to do alone, is it?” 

Peeking under the table, Armie stretches one leg forward and runs his toe up to Timmy’s knees, nudging them apart. “How about with your boyfriend?” 

Timmy is grinning back at him, obviously down for it against his better judgment. “Our caretakers are old. They’re gonna have a coronary.”

“Not a no,” Armie points out, rubbing the underside of his foot on Timmy’s bare thighs. 

The color is rising to Timmy’s face pretty fast, chewing his lips. “Hold that thought.” He tells him. “Let’s go around town first.” 

Maybe Armie was a little disappointed, but not even nearly enough to keep it in his mind for longer than a second. Timmy put their empty glasses on a tray and brought it to the kitchen, thanking the cook for the breakfast. Armie tries as well, and she smiles at the effort. When they stepped back out, Timmy led him to two bicycles on the side of the house, pulling both by the seats and handing him the other. Armie has to fumble with it to adjust to his height while Timmy just stood by the wall to watch him. They set off for the town, passing by what felt like a proper forest before finally arriving at the concrete road. It was so leisurely and therapeutic. 

Instead of running errands like Armie expected, Timmy actually took him on a date. They left their bikes by this bookshop that Timmy stopped by in, just as they were opening, and greeted the store owner with a huge hug. He introduced Armie, but he can hardly keep up since they only spoke in Italian. It didn’t matter as much as anyone would think. It doesn’t even bother Armie. He’s always found that he enjoyed watching Timmy in his element, where he’s most at ease and knows he’s best at. It’s also one of the wonders of living together; waking up first thing and seeing Timmy move around in graceful familiarity. 

“We would ride our bikes all the way up to the heart of the town, that way,” Timmy points to the narrow slip of the road to their side. “I still remember most of them, but we lost touch over the years. We would just walk around and do what comes up in the moment.” 

They stopped at this small restaurant and ordered some refreshments. It was still early that the sun still feels gentle on the skin, but the warming breeze is already telling that it’s nearing afternoon. 

“What’s out there?” Armie asks, leaning back on his chair. 

Timmy shrugs. “Nothing,” he looks at Armie, and they laugh together. “It’s a pretty historical place, sure, but Crema isn’t topping some travel guide articles. We enjoy it here because we’re from _here._ It’s the familiar people and places.” 

“I feel like this is a perfect place for finding your muse.” Armie says absently as he looks at the towering old church.

“I swear to God, Armand, if you ask me to draw you like a French girl, I will leave you here.” Timmy threatens, but his eyes shine with amusement. 

“I’ll keep trying.” Armie warns with a wave of his finger. 

They return to their bikes after finishing their drinks, and Timmy brings him next to a bar. Armie nudges Timmy with his shoulder, but he just swats him and leads him to play billiards. It was delightful. Timmy is shamelessly hopeless with it, and Armie is a businessman. Of course he knows how to play. Multiple times, Timmy only succeeded to sink a ball with sheer dumb luck. It wasn’t even a question of who’s going to win when there was no competition in the first place. In the end, Armie just taught Timmy the basics, which he picked up easily because he’s a quick study. The problem is the incessant amount of bending over. Armie has no intention of getting arrested in a foreign country, so they left the bar shortly after the two rounds they did. 

“Where to next?” Armie asks as they walk away side by side. 

Timmy tugs at his sleeve, pointing in a narrow alleyway. “Let’s go there.” 

In hindsight, Armie probably should have known better. No one can blame him though, since in a town so small and peaceful, it makes sense to be less mindful of things. There’s a nook right into a wall of a towering building, enough for cover if pressed snug against it. Timmy takes his hand and then tugs him forward, backing them up against the wall as he takes Armie by the nape and kisses him. They made out as discreetly as anyone could in broad daylight, Armie feeling bolder and slipping his hand under Timmy’s shirt. They would part to smile at each other, then lean in to kiss some more. When they stepped back to the streets again, they’re visibly less put together. 

Timmy brings him to another restaurant, just in time for lunch. He ordered for them, and by now he’s the most reliable when it comes to gauging Armie’s taste, so he just lets him. The restaurant is in the heart of the town where Timmy said he frequented with Italians his age back when he was a teenager. The massive windows open to the view of the street, where in the middle stood a historical marker. Timmy was giving him a quick context of it when their food arrived, and Armie couldn’t contain his surprise when he saw it. 

“This is the ignorance I warned you about on our first date but,” Armie stares at the risotto, salad and meat dish on their table. “No pasta?” 

Timmy snorts, smiling. “I want you to eat like a local.” 

“Oh, wow. That’s good.” Armie remarks after a bite. 

Timmy nods at him proudly. “Right? I also can’t make it to save my life.” 

Armie chuckles through his food. “This is worth returning for, hands down.” 

“Just the food?” Timmy actually looks up at him from under his lashes, because clearly making out with Armie in an alley just doesn’t seem to do it. 

“Angel, you know I’d follow you anywhere.” Armie leans forward, then looks him up and down. “Eat your food. I was promised skinny dipping.” 

“Literally no one said that.” 

“So if I go by myself you’ll be fine reading a book inside?” 

Timmy looks so offended by everything he heard. “I took you on a cute date and this is what I get.”

“I promised you my naked and wet self.” Armie insists, and the elderly couple at the other table actually tilted their heads slightly. 

Timmy’s face burned up so fast and he kicked Armie under the table. 

“What? I thought they only spoke Italian.” 

*******

Because Timmy literally can’t bring Armie anywhere without him acting like an idiot, they return to the villa after lunch. The food settled nicely that they felt sleepy with it, so Timmy took him to the outdoor swing bed in the orchard, facing the pool. They snuggled together immediately, lulled gently by the slow movement of the bed and the warm summer breeze. 

“I love this.” Armie tells him, just as they were drifting off. “I want this for us. I think it might be good.”

Luckily, Timmy is too drowsy to overthink it. “I do, too.” 

When they woke again, the sun was still high up, likely mid-afternoon. Timmy takes in his surroundings, listening for any sound within the vicinity. It’s usually around this time that their caretaker would be around town if not tending the garden. The cook would take the small window in the afternoon to rest, having just finished lunch and still enough hours before she has to start dinner. The way Timmy is accounting for everyone in the villa makes him feel ridiculous, and everything they joked about sneaking around for sex is slowly coming true. 

Armie is curled towards him, his arms around Timmy as he holds him close to his chest. He rarely gets to be so peaceful even when he rests, so Timmy only ever sees it on some days off or in rare weekend getaways that they manage. Something in him aches still at the sight of Armie, the utter disbelief and gratefulness that he happened upon this man, and offered his whole heart so unconditionally that it floors Timmy even a year after. Reaching out, Timmy threads his fingers through Armie’s hair, relishing the love he feels as he looks at him. 

He’s always been a light sleeper, so naturally, Armie would begin to stir at the sign that Timmy is awake. One of his most favorite things is watching Armie shake off his sleep, eyes slowly blinking open until it settles on him completely, and he would have the same dazed and adoring look on his face; so wholly affectionate and loving that there’s no doubting it. It’s there again in Armie’s eyes and in the curve of his lips. 

“Hey there.” Timmy kissed him on the tip of the nose. 

“You’re quite a sight.” Armie responds, brushing his hair away from his face. 

Raising his brow, Timmy asks “A good one?” 

“The best in my life.” Armie says and pulls them flush against each other, kissing him on the lips languidly. 

Something about the moment makes it so tender, and Timmy feels gripped with how overwhelming it was. He moves to get his arms around Armie’s neck, and climbs on top of him so they’re plastered together like that. Armie’s hands travel up and down his back as they make out, then land on his ass and knead on it. Timmy smiles into their kiss when he feels Armie’s growing dick against his, and he grinds down hard, enjoying the friction. 

“Really? On the swing bed?” Armie teased, but he made no move to release his ass. “We ate come first thing since we landed.” 

The memory made Timmy laugh and shake his head. “That’s quite a feat.” He moves to stand on his knees and pulls Armie to sit up. “Let’s go inside.” He shuffles off his lap and gets to the ground, Armie following close behind. 

The villa is as good as empty at that time, and Armie freely pulls Timmy to his chest as they walk up, kissing and groping him because he can. Timmy goes willingly every time, even allowing Armie to push him up against the door and kiss his neck, then making out in the middle of the stairs with a thigh planted between his legs. They stumbled into the bedroom because they’re so unwilling to stop kissing, their already sparse clothes getting strewn all across the floor. Armie picks him up by the thighs to lie him on the mattress, kissing from his chest up to his mouth, nudging his legs apart so he can touch his hole. Arching, Timmy tugs Armie down to blanket his body completely, their dicks pressing into each other. Spreading his legs further, Timmy takes them both into his hand and jerks them off, Armie gasping into his mouth but keeping up by putting a finger in him. 

Knowing that all interruptions likely won’t come still doesn’t discount the possibility, and it’s evident that they’re both acutely aware of that. Armie is working him open earnestly, quicker than he usually would but just as careful. Timmy is rutting them together, humping into Armie’s dick as they make out. When he feels Armie scoop him with his free hand, Timmy braces himself so he can help them roll over. Now on top, Timmy feels himself taking Armie’s fingers deeper, then his other hand begins to pump at his dick and Timmy hunches over him, stimulated and sensitive. Armie is already getting him off, and with the way he’s applying pressure against his prostate at the same time that he’s jacking him off, he’ll succeed pretty soon. 

When Timmy comes, Armie is already pulling out his fingers, then replacing it with his dick. It’s one of the things they like to do in bed; get Timmy off first then immediately fuck him in the afterglow of his orgasm, simply because he loves the blurring pleasure from getting pounded and pain from overstimulation. The moment Armie slides in, Timmy gasps, noting that lack of condom. They rarely do it without, since it’s easier to clean up like that and frankly due to habit. Now though, Timmy feels his arousal rise rapidly, his dick twitching again even if it’s still coming down from spurting. 

It’s a dangerous game, so Timmy gathers all the strength he has to push Armie down on the bed, keeping his hands on his chest while he flexes his legs. Slowly, Timmy begins to rock Armie’s lap, starting with shallow thrusts until he feels his voice is more under control, less helpless whimpers and more low moans. The bed, despite the solid frame, is creaking beneath them, but Timmy still slams his hips down, riding out the last of the subtle pain from sensory overload and chasing the pressure against his prostate. Armie gropes him everywhere, making him throw his head back. Then, he got light taps on his hip, and when his attention is caught, Armie flips them on the bed. He has an arm on the headboard, the other tilting Timmy’s hips just slightly off the bed, then drives his hips in deep, languid thrusts. The slow slide of his dick was perfect, Timmy would’ve sobbed if he wasn’t mewling and gasping at every graze. Armie kisses around his face, but never quite getting to kiss him fully on the mouth as he pants out. Timmy arches off and begins to slam his hips to meet Armie's, keeping their eyes locked up until Armie growls and groans, coming inside and shivering through his ripping orgasm. 

“You skipped the condom.” Timmy wonders, not really a huge concern for him but when he feels the come dribble down his thigh it’s an easy conversation piece. 

Armie actually runs his finger inside his thigh, catching the come and fingering him again with it. “We’re living zero waste, angel.” 

*******

The call for dinner has already been rung twice, but Armie was still on his knees in the bathroom, sucking off Timmy eagerly as the water sprays steadily over them. Timmy keeps hissing, gripping his hair and clenching his core at every bob of his head. Giving a long lick, Armie suckles the tip one more time before he pulls off completely. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Armie quips smartly, still on his knees and looking up to Timmy. 

It took a few seconds before the daze cleared Timmy’s brain, but even then he only asked “You - what?” 

It was a task to stop his laugh, so Armie pressed his lips together. “Yup, come on. Let’s get dressed.” He gives a light tap on Timmy’s thigh as he gets up on his feet. 

“So you got me this hard just to edge me on the dinner table.” Timmy grimaces at him but turns off the shower anyway. 

Armie laughed, he can’t help it with how grouchy Timmy suddenly became. “Be a good host, Timothée. I keep eating come.” He gets his towel thrown at his face, but he just laughs into it. 

“When we finish eating, I want my dick sucked,” Timmy says as he steps around to start putting his clothes on. “I don’t even mean the regular blowjob. You better fucking worsh-”

Armie gropes Timmy’s crotch over his shorts, shutting him up. “I want you to fuck me after dinner.” 

Timmy gawked for a full minute, torn between his irritation and arousal. It was hilarious. 

Dinner is spectacular. Timmy is still chatting, talking about the orchard now and their cook, from whom he got most recipes from. Armie nods his head along to the stories, but his attention is split to watching Timmy’s tells; the incessant tapping of his feet, his fingers always fiddling with something, his teeth chewing the flesh inside his cheek. He’s so antsy and not even trying to conceal it. Armie spares him the additional torment by not edging him further with touch, and instead just spends their time on their meal like neither of them are tenting their shorts. 

“Wow,” Armie chews on the treat they're served. _Torronne,_ Timmy told him, a regional dessert with nuts and nougat. “I keep getting nut in my mouth.” He adds, because he can’t miss the opportunity when it’s there.

Timmy throws his head back, breathing in and out. “If you’re going to get on my damn nerves, Armand, choose the ones on my dick.” 

Armie still didn’t move, resuming the casual conversation about all things _not sex._ In a way, Timmy looks relieved, but at the same time visibly counting down seconds until dinner is over so they can return to bed. Armie wants to bid his time though, wants to wait until it’s well into the night. When they stand up from the dinner table, Timmy is waiting for him to initiate, because he’s just like that all the time, considerate and tactful. Armie doesn’t go up the stairs, and instead turns to the hall where the piano is. 

“Play for me?” He asks, almost shy for asking. 

Timmy catches on. Of course he would. At this point, no one has ever seen Armie bare his heart completely and openly more than him. Smiling, he steps into Armie’s personal space, one hand delicately cupping his jaw, then brings their mouths together in a sweet, chaste kiss. It was an intimate gesture, packed with love and understanding, and they smiled at each other once they opened their eyes. They never fall short in showing their love to each other. 

They walk to the hall hand in hand, but since it’s only a stool than a bench, Armie settled on sitting on the coffee table a few paces away. Taking a deep breath, Timmy plays a new arrangement, something Armie knows definitely that Timmy never played for him before. He focuses on following the melody, noting how it strangely speaks to him, and the more it goes the more he recognizes what it means. Just in time, Timmy throws him a small smile, and Armie _knows._ He wrote it for him. 

Something in the room shifted right after their subtle exchange. Timmy is still playing, engrossed in the music he poured his heart into, while Armie is trying to calm his heart as it struggles in his chest. It was at that moment that he knew he already felt everything he needed to. 

“It’s for you.” Timmy announces, his eyes trained on the keyboard while he smiles pensively. “It’s us. I wanted to translate everything you made me feel into my music.” He finally turns his head, bashful at the admission and shrugging to play it off. “I _tried._ ” 

“Come here,” Armie motions for Timmy to step into his outstretched arms. They smile at each other again before Timmy gets moving, sitting on Armie’s thigh comfortably. “You’re the love of my life, surely you know that by now.” 

Timmy’s eyes watered, but he nodded anyway. He never needed to say it, there’s really no other way to name how he treats Timmy other than that. “You’re the love of my life, too.” 

There it was again; how they’re the mirror of each other, the absence of doubt when they speak because they see their hearts like it was their own. Armie pulls Timmy in an embrace, cradling his head as he snuggles on the crook of his neck. 

“You have my heart. You’re all that there is in it.” Armie tells him, carding his fingers through his hair. “You gave me the best year of my life.” 

Timmy sniffles into his neck, then lifts his head to crash their mouths together. There’s a desperation in the way that he moved against Armie, like he’s stumbling over himself to return the sentiment but can’t quite grasp the words to use. It’s overcompensating. There’s no need for it. Armie knows. They both will always. 

They stand up together; Timmy taking his arm and putting it around his shoulder as he hugs Armie by the waist. They walk tangled together like that, looking at each other wordlessly as they go up to their room. The moon is bright that night, and the cool blue light spills into their bedroom. Armie strips out of his clothes, standing in front of Timmy like he’s demanding him to watch. There’s reverence in the look on Timmy’s face, still strangely breathless despite the sheer number of times they’ve done this. Armie waits until he has his fill, and true enough, Timmy reaches forward, touching his forearm, kissing his shoulder blades, breathing in on his neck. When he pushes Armie to sit on the bed, he does the same; stripping down and making Armie watch. 

It was astounding how Armie was absolutely sure that the reverence he saw in Timmy’s face was now replicated on his face. It makes him marvel at just how deeply they feel each other, realizing he’s experiencing now the emotions he inspired out of Timmy when he stood in offering. 

They sink together in bed, Timmy moving on top of him tenderly, softly. He touches Armie the same way his hands fly over the keys when he plays, they’re ghost of a touch, yet it burns just the same. There’s dexterity in Timmy’s fingers that makes Armie squirm beneath it, even so when it breaches into his hole, pushing and curling that he howls just a few seconds in. Timmy shushes at him, kissing all over his face to get him back in his mind, though Armie thinks it’s too late for that. There are moans and grunts and sighs that he hears distantly that he knows were his own, but listening to himself is like hearing underwater. His eyes are shut tightly, and he revels in having Timmy worship his body as he sets his skin alight wherever he touches. The thrust was so slow that Armie could practically see the image of Timmy sinking into him, his cock disappearing in his hole inch by inch. He barely waits a second. The moment the skin of their groins touch, Armie crossed his legs behind Timmy and urged him to move. 

It felt like the longest sex they’ve ever had. It probably wasn’t, considering their insane marathons in the past, but the place where they are helped. Knowing that they’re in a town out of time with lazy days and languid nights; it’s a lot, and Armie feels it translates into the way they’re treating the moment. Timmy rolls his hips in deep, careful thrusts, his body blanketed over Armie and kissing him at nearly every movement. Their breathing soon becomes labored, but still so enchantingly in sync, and Armie almost loses his breath completely when he feels Timmy come in him at the same time that his own orgasm hits. 

They fell on the bed together, both barely keeping their eyes open, but they fought the urge to doze off. When they’re holding each other’s gaze, they smiled, and no other words needed to be said. Everything is conveyed and reciprocated. 

They’re again up even before sunrise, well-rested despite their sleep continuing on the schedule like there’s still work to go to. They didn’t even have the energy to clean off the night before, too spent on spilling their hearts to each other and between the sheets. Timmy rinses them off, running his hands on every surface that’s sticky and crusty, which is a lot. 

“I bottom for you and you don’t even wipe me off after.” Armie grumbles teasingly, watching Timmy run water on his chest hair that stuck on his skin. 

“I’m doing it now. Turn around.” Timmy pinches his flank. 

“Ow!” Armies looks at Timmy with feigned affront. “God, I still have come in my ass.” 

Timmy snorts, taking the shower head and turning it to spray on his back. “That’s what you get for your zero waste bullshit.” 

“I am, actually, an enviro - oh, shit! Shit!” Armie gulps in a huge breath of air like he’s drowning, because he barely registers the sound of Timmy going on his knees before his ass cheeks are spread open and a tongue presses flat on his hole. 

Timmy rimmed him until Armie came untouched. Then Timmy fucked him again against the bathroom wall. Armie was so dazed that he felt his head get heavy with it. 

When Timmy dragged him out of the villa for a swim, Armie had barely shaken off the fog in his brain. He was still struggling with his consciousness when Timmy pushed the bike to his hand, looking at him expectantly. 

“Angel, I swear I can’t see straight. There’s two of your right now in front of me and it’s not helping my brain function at all.” Armie whines, letting the bike fall against his hips. 

“Alright,” Timmy mounted his and barely looked over his shoulder to check on Armie. “I guess you’ll just have to miss seeing two of me skinning dipping.” 

To anyone at first sight, Armie might be the asshole in the relationship, but no. It’s Timmy. He’s a proper dickbag who fucked Armie twice and then made him ride a bike after. He doesn’t deserve rights.

*******

Their days go by just like the first; early mornings and immediately falling into each other’s arms, making out until it escalates. They go to breakfast together and swim and sunbathe and ride to town. Timmy no longer has the same reservations he did when he brought Armie to France. Now, every bit is an open invitation for him to integrate himself more and more into Timmy’s life, to imprint on every location close to his heart that Timmy cannot possibly return to any of it without recalling the time that he was once there with Armie. 

Their afternoons are spent on the swing bed if not lying on the grass and sunbathing. They swim in the pool when it’s too hot, and then return under the warm sunlight to dry. Timmy would sometimes just tend to the orchard while dripping from pool water, picking peaches and apricots and collecting them in a basket. Armie would join him, but it never quite ended in productivity. 

Once the night falls, Timmy just allows it to unfold as they go. Some were frantic, stripping each other and fucking wantonly in their bedroom. Others were leisurely, going to the hall and playing for Armie, or in the study where they read books side by side. 

In Timmy’s informed opinion, bringing Armie to their Italian villa is one of his brightest ideas, for the simple reason that they’re very rarely dressed the entire time. When Timmy insisted on bringing Armie first thing in the morning to swim on their second day, it just became apparent that dressing up is pretty pointless when you swim and soak and roll around all day. Armie tans beautifully, his skin bronzed and shone when the light hits him just right, and he also looks even more blonde than he ever was. 

The amount of pictures they took was insane. Armie loves to snap Timmy during candid moments; when he’s reading, eating breakfast, snacking on fruit, lying on the grass, leaning over the window. On the other hand, Timmy loves to call Armie first before taking the photo, simply because the look on his eyes as they land on Timmy is breathtaking. It’s a challenge to capture it though, since he’s always quick to find the camera. 

In this trip, Timmy just about felt the foundation of their relationship shift, and he knows it’s something that Armie felt, a decision he made, a thought that he had. There’s renewed light in which he views Timmy, and it would’ve burned to stand under it if Timmy wasn’t so busy trying to return the feeling. 

*******

“There you are,” Timmy says as he enters the study, finding Armie curled on the sofa and reading. 

They were napping together in their bedroom, passing out after a particularly steamy round of sex. There were visitors downstairs, Armie could recall hearing them when Timmy gave him a lingering kiss on the forehead to tell him he’ll go down to greet them. Greeting them turned into grabbing some drinks in the town, and since Armie had the living daylights knocked out of him, Timmy allowed him to catch some rest and went off. Waking up to an empty bed was disorienting, but he supposed in a house that big there won’t be a shortage of things to do. 

Armie held the book up so Timmy could see the title. “You were having a row with Victor Hugo.” 

Timmy scoffs, snatching the heavy book from Armie’s hand. “You don’t know that. This copy is in French.” He flops down next to Armie, waiting for him lift his arm so he can tuck himself under. 

“Am I wrong?” Armie brushes Timmy’s hair away from his face as he opens the book. 

“No,” Timmy answers with a smile. “I was, though.” 

“Why’s that?” Armie asks and uselessly peeks into the page Timmy stops on, well past the thousand and five hundred mark. 

“Remember when I confessed that I was an angsty teen?” They both laughed at the memory, and Timmy points his finger at a particular passage. First, he read in French, much to Armie’s delight. “ _‘When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love, soar.’_ ” 

Armie hardly realized how hard he stared until Timmy caught his eyes. “That’s long.” 

“‘When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love, soar.’” Timmy translates carefully, even though his face flushes heatedly. “I had a number of gibberish to say in disagreement when I was fifteen, obviously.” 

“You don’t think that anymore?” Armie’s heart is thudding way too loudly in his chest for Timmy not to feel it. 

When Timmy looks up, Armie couldn’t have braced himself even if he already knew the answer. “No, not after knowing you. Not when you love me so.” 

*******

There was a celebration in town that got nearly all the residents gathered in the heart of it. Timmy made a vague explanation of some festival about harvest since Crema is agricultural, but mostly they were just in it to dance and drink with the locals. They skipped dinner as advised by the cook, since it’s a wasted trip to attend it on full stomach. They arrived into brightly lit streets and bonfires and lanterns, of percussion and dancing and singing. Timmy comes up to whoever looked most approachable within their vicinity, and Armie watches him chat animatedly with a sweet-looking old couple. Shortly after, Armie was motioned forward and Timmy introduced them, the old woman cooing while her husband wolf-whistles. 

“They said we’re a very good looking couple.” Timmy said cheekily, accepting a plate of cheese and cured meat enough for the two of them. “They even added that it was quite an occupying task to decide which looked better.” 

Armie chuckles. “I hope they came to an agreement on that.” 

Timmy spins to face him. “They said it was me.” 

Armie tried to look offended, but he only burst out laughing mainly because he agreed. “Fine, I concede.” 

“As you should. My jaw has been clicking these days. I’ve been sucking your dick too much.” Timmy says casually, eating cold cuts and cheese and smiling at the dancer on the street. Armie stared for five full seconds. He knows this because he counted. “What? It’s true. Salami?” He offers a slice with cheese, and Armie just accepts it. 

The party seemed to have an endless amount of food and even more wine to serve it with. There was hardly any program being followed, and the people just go in the middle if they feel like dancing to whatever’s being played or sung. It was as if the entire town gathered round for tonight; from the kids to the elderly, and everyone finding something to entertain them with. Timmy even joined with the musicians, but only for a number or two. 

“Let’s dance!” Timmy said after he returned to Armie’s side, the wine giving him a permanent flush on his cheeks that Armie couldn’t resist. 

Pulling Timmy by the hand, Armie catches his face and tilts it up to a kiss, moving their lips tenderly that they hum into it. They parted and smiled to each other, their minds hazy now but still somewhat retaining clarity. They got into the crowd shortly after, and they jumped and twisted around more than they danced. There’s also even _more_ wine being passed around in it, if that was possible, and Armie thinks that they have just about the same amount of wine consumed in the short while they were in the crowd as they did the entire night. 

By midnight, they were wine-drunk and giddy, giggling as they stumbled along the street and stopping on a bench or against a wall to make out. Timmy takes Armie by the hand, doing ballet jumps and spinning as they go. It was mesmerizing, even for Armie’s clouded brain. They’re already on their way to the villa, relying solely on their feet to bring them back since they’re so busy with being wasted on the streets. 

At some point, after Timmy completes an actual routine and wounds back into his embrace, Armie breaks out into a musical number. It was triggered by just how taken he felt by watching Timmy, which is nothing new, but since he’s drunk his brain has no filter. 

“Moulin Rouge!” Timmy shouts, identifying the musical where the song came from. He pretends to swoon, leaning his weight on Arms chest and peppering kisses on his neck. 

“‘Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything; seasons may change winter to spring, but I’ll love you until the end of time.’” It was in D major or something but the bottomline is it’s far too hard for Armie to sing, on top of the fact that it’s not his strong suit to begin with. 

Timmy jumps and squeals anyway, delighted by the drunken spectacle. He dances again, keeping their fingers thread together as he bends his body and hops on his heels gracefully, following the song no matter how terribly off-key Armie sings it. 

“‘And there’s no mountain too high, no river too wide. Sing out this song and I’ll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide, but I’ll love you until the end of time.’” Armie bends to press a kiss on Timmy’s knuckles, and they’re so hysterically drunk that the cook is standing outside the villa with a broom when they arrived, ready to fend off lost drunkards until she realized it was them. 

She ushered them inside the villa, but two grown men tangled together and unsteady on their feet were quite evidently a hazard, so she just made sure they collapsed on the massive couch near the fireplace before leaving them for the night. 

“Come what may?” Timmy asks with an incredulous laugh, in reference to the song as they exchange chaste kisses on the couch. “Really?” He giggles again, and what followed is just some drunken exchange that thankfully no one else heard. 

“Yeah, even a baby.” 

“I don’t think I’m pregnant.”

“I hope not. We had a lot of wine.” 

*******

On their last day in Italy, Timmy brings him just outside of Crema to shop for things to bring back to the US, a lot of which are food or trinkets. He even has a list for it, and they went into this inconspicuous alley that literally has everything from local produce to small machinery supplies. It was a length of the street that was lined by one old business after the other, so the trust Timmy has for this was understandable. 

“What should we get for Viktor?” Timmy asks as he picks up some cheese and loads it in the basket. 

“Oh, liquor. For sure.” Armie responds, taking a piece off the free taste tray. “He’s left out there dealing with our parents.” 

Timmy scrunches his nose at that. “Should I even try with your parents?” 

Armie looks at him like he’s joking. “If you mean you’re planning to bring something back to give to them, then I wish you a safe trip. I’ll be at home but I promise to take care of dinner.” 

“Fine,” Timmy rolls his eyes but he has a slight curve on his lips. “You didn’t have to be overdramatic about it.” 

“Me offering to prepare our dinner after you take one for the team isn’t being overdramatic.” Armie protests as they come up to the counter to pay. 

“Let’s stop this discussion of the hypothetical visit to your parents.” Timmy turns away from him and greets the lady at the cashier. “I should get Liz some liquor too.” 

“Well now it sounds like my circle consists of alcoholics.” Armie remarks with a sigh. 

Timmy snorts. 

They move further down the street until they arrive at an enormous, two-storey souvenir shop. This time, Timmy looks for something for their home. Armie eagerly joins him, and they settle on a figurine of stacked peaches, simply because it looks like a butt and they’ve been naked most of time anyway. They laughed and snorted some more as they recall what entailed before Timmy wanders, disappearing among music boxes in the far corner. 

Initially, when Armie set off to the opposite direction, he was just looking for ways to jump on Timmy and scare him. He was pleasantly surprised to find himself on the side of the store that sells artisan jewelry. The shop itself sells only specialized, handcrafted souvenirs so Armie supposed to find a higher form of craftsmanship is to be expected. He smiles at the old man tending the counter, and he smiles back to him and motions to the rack. Armie likes to buy accessories for Timmy, so it wouldn't be the first time he’s doing this, but one look on the selection stopped his heartbeat for a full second before restarting frantically in his chest. 

Armie prays so hard that Timmy will take his sweet time on the far, far side of the store. For the duration of their stay in Italy, Armie has cemented to himself the fact that _this_ is what he wants, and he wants it for the rest of his life. He’s pretty sure about it early on, if he’s being honest, but it’s here that he knew he’ll be proposing soon. It wasn’t the first time he’s seen rings since it occurred to him, so no one can use that against him. Something about the ones they have here that grips Armie so tightly that he can’t possibly walk away, and maybe it was that unidentifiable factor itself, the one that you only recognize when it’s there, that helps him make the decision. The unknown that you’re familiar with on the first encounter, the stranger you intimately know on the first meeting. It speaks to him. 

Not willing to waste more time, Armie gathers all the courage he could muster despite his thundering heartbeat. “Hello,” he tries with a bashful smile. “English?” 

The man graciously motions him closer, welcoming. “Of course. What are you looking for?” 

Ah, the million-dollar question. “I - well. Sorry, I’m nervous.” Armie clears his throat, looking over his shoulder like a delinquent. “In case we’re interrupted - my boyfriend is right there - can I get your business card?” 

The man smiles in understanding, pulling a small box across the glass top and offering to Armie. “Domizio,” he gestures to himself. “Do you want me to send someone to your boyfriend? A conversation or two,” he suggests, already motioning for the young lady who’s arranging displays in the shelf. 

“That would be - yeah. Please,” Armie agrees, tongue tied and sweating for some reasons. 

“Engagement?” Domizio asks gently, obviously sensing how distressed Armie is. 

“Yes,” Armie makes a vague gesture with his hand. “I’m - actually, well - I’m not sure what I want? I mean, I just made up my mind to propose this week but-” He cuts himself off to laugh, indicating the display of intricate, custom rings. 

Domizio actually gets a surprised glint in his eyes. “Ah, well that’s love, isn’t it? It only takes one look to know the search is over.” 

Armie is acutely aware that he’s losing air with just how nervous he is. The accurate description just knocked the breath out of him some more. God, he better not faint in here. “Can I-”

Sparing him from himself, Domizio takes out the velvet cushion on which the rings are tucked into. He holds a finger to Armie, telling him to wait, and he turns to fetch two more boxes, allowing Armie some time to pick. They were all beautiful; polished and distinct in a unique way that the more popular companies do not seem to quite achieve. Some were shiny, others were matte, some were gold and others were silver. They had plain bands and others with engravings or inlays. 

“Each is a labor of love, Signor. You can pick up any ring from here and I can tell you the step-by-step of how me and my children made them.” Domizio says, still speaking softly to Armie in consideration of his state. 

Hearing it made Armie release a loud breath. There you go. That’s _why._ “I’m - they’re beautiful.” _But not quite what I’m looking for,_ he wants to say but he can’t seem to work past the lump in his throat. 

“Another?” Domizio offers, already opening the boxes he took from the back. 

Armie nodded, looking over his shoulder again. This the most nerve wracking thing he’s ever attempted. His blood pressure will never return to normal after this, he feels like. 

The contents of the two boxes are again distinct in appearance but retain the characteristic touch of an intimately custom-made jewelry. It seems to be a recurring theme now, that when Armie’s gaze lands on a regal gold band with turquoise inlay, and his already pounding chest constricts violently that it’s staggering. He’s immediately reminded of Timmy’s eyes - how they look under the sun, or when they’re just glassy enough from sleep or wine or happiness - and he knows that that’s _it._

“If you’re sure?” Domizio prompts him, noticing how he fixated on that one ring. “This is an extensive process, signor. We need the papers, and the modifications, of course.” 

Armie understands, and he pulls out his wallet and hopes the business card he shoved in there long, long ago hasn’t decomposed. He finds it in a rather good condition, and he scribbles his personal number on the back. “I’ll settle the fees?” 

There’s an underlying wisdom in the way that Domizio is looking at him, and Armie gets the impression that he’ll stop him if he thinks he’s being rash. Trusting the man, Armie allows himself to be put under scrutiny, and Domizio smiles again, accepting, before leading him to the register where they can file the bill. 

When Armie finds Timmy, he’s significantly calmer, but his heart still continues to drum loudly in his chest. He’s chatting with the lady Domizio sent, standing over the shelf of music boxes and chatting excitedly in Italian. 

“Oh, hey! I was starting to get worried that you’re lost.” Timmy teased, woefully unaware of what Armie has been up to behind his back. “This is Pippa. She’s the granddaughter of the current owner. She made these music boxes herself.” 

“That’s stunning.” Armie exchanged looks with her, and she gave him a knowing smile and a nod. He wraps an arm around Timmy’s shoulder and kisses the top of his head. “Are you getting one?” 

“Nope, I’m getting three.” Timmy answers, winking at Pippa and they giggle. “How about you? Have you found something?” 

Armie thinks back on the ring as he stares on the very eyes that inspired him to pick it. “It’ll come.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t care what any of y’all say about gold with turquoise inlays. Somebody lied to you if you’ve seen them and they don’t work.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ja, so here we are. I feel emotional about my own fic lmao. But yeah. Epilogue is coming up next. Allow me a few days to sort that one out because it’s in shambles in my drafts. I love you all for staying with me throughout this story. 🥺🥺

As is usual with after every break they take, Timmy and Armie returned to waves after waves of work. They barely come up for air for the first few weeks, their free times not lining up anymore and all they have the energy for at the end of the day was for making out, and then their mornings would get a quickie if they’re not woken up by a phone call from work first. Timmy has gotten cranky, scraping so much of his work and starting over again because of the demanding pace that he’s going, while Armie had nights where Timmy would find him passed out in his study, catching up on files and files of contracts and deals. 

Timmy listens as the door rattles, then finally opening as Armie steps into their flat. It’s past eight already, and even that is considered an early off for Armie. 

“Timmy?” Armie calls out from the living room. 

Rising to his feet, Timmy takes his apron off and wipes as much of the paint off as he can. “Yes?” He walks through the archway, his eyes landing on Armie sprawled on the couch. “Did you have dinner yet?” 

Armie shakes his head, but only opens his arms out. “No, not yet. Come here,” 

“I'll get paint on your suit.” Timmy points out but walks over anyway, sitting down on the space by Armie’s feet. 

“It’s fine. Cuddle me.” There wasn’t much choice anymore when Armie sits up and envelopes Timmy in a hug, breathing him in. “You’ve been painting.” He sounds pleased. 

“Yeah, deadline.” Timmy hugs Armie back, all his tension washing away as they hold each other. 

Armie grumbles and kisses the top of his head. “Is that the last?” 

“Of the paintings? Yes, but the production is picking up next week. We’ll go to a series of meetings for brainstorming, probably a few trips, too.” Timmy tells him, rubbing circles on Armie’s back as he tightens his arms around him. 

“You’re going to be away?” Armie asks, pushing them apart to look at Timmy. 

Apologetic, Timmy tilts his head up to peck on Armie’s nose, then his lips. “It’s not set yet, but that’s likely.” 

“Will it be long?” Armie leans on the back of the couch, staring at Timmy as he brushes his curls away from his face. “We don’t get so much time together.” 

Timmy sighs, pushing his head into Armie’s chest and nuzzling there. “I don’t know. Nothing’s final, so there’s really no saying. I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine. I mean, not. I miss you, but I understand.” Armie cradles him again in his arms. “I’m sorry too. I’ve been holed up in the office.” 

Timmy only hums, enjoying Armie’s strokes along his back. “Yeah, you were. Speaking of,” he pokes Armie’s belly. “Food?” 

Armie chuckles, looking at the kitchen. “Are we cooking?” 

Sitting up, Timmy stares towards the pantry and runs through his options in his head. “Eh, delivery?” He scrunches his nose, looking back to Armie. “We need to get groceries.” 

Armie chuckles, kissing Timmy. “Yeah let’s just do takeouts.” 

*******

“Did you call the maintenance?” Timmy walks into Armie’s office, half of his shirt dripping with water. 

The sight immediately made Armie wince, realizing his slip. He runs his palm across his face, sitting up. “Shit, sorry. I forgot.” 

Timmy looks so unimpressed across the room. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.” 

“It’s not fine, you’re mad.” Armie can see how irritated Timmy is as he turns away. 

“I’m not mad. It’s just a stupid phone call.” Timmy snaps, walking to his studio and ripping a post-it lying on a surface. 

“Angel-”

Timmy whips around and glares. “What?” 

Armie blinks. It’s clearly going to be an argument, and he feels defensive because they’re both clearly so deep into their works to not forget a thing or two. “Look, let me do it. I’ll note it so I can ring them immediately tomorrow.” 

“It’s the third day of us dealing with that stupid leak.” Timmy’s shirt is still dripping on the floor. 

There’s a strong urge in Armie to defend himself, to argue, to ask consideration for  _ his _ situation. He pushes it down. Instead, Armie reaches forward, tentative, staring at Timmy as he glares. “I know, I’m sorry.” He steps forward, testing the waters. 

Timmy still looks irate, a harsh frown planted on his face. He tossed the memo pad back on top of the drawer, dropping his hands on his side and allowed Armie to close the distance between them and hug him. 

“I’m sorry, angel.” Armie says again, rocking them back and forth as they stand in the studio. He begins to stroke Timmy’s hair and massages soothingly on his back. “Let’s take a walk or something, maybe get some gelato from the place you like. They’re still open.” 

Timmy grips on his back, the fabric scrunching in his hands. “Okay, okay,” he gasps out, nodding repeatedly. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t - there’s so many things going on. I  _ am _ so mad. My God, I feel like nothing’s going my way.” 

“We’ll talk about it.” 

*******

Even though it's still the middle of a press tour, Gloria has started to throw Saoirse around in events and gatherings. The contract with Emily hasn’t ended yet, still a month to go, but they already drew up a contract together while Saoirse has talked to Emily of her plans to leave. She looked unimpressed, but not surprised, and the only reaction she gave Saoirse was a shrug before she lit up her cigarette. 

It just so happens that the dance studio in Broadway that Gloria wants her to visit is where a lot of her friends are at, practicing and rehearsing for a production or something else. She’s been here twice before tonight, and every time she would walk into a different set. It was so much fun; they dragged her along to dance or workout or just stretch whenever it’s downtime. 

Timmy is not a part of the performing pool, because that’s just how he rolls, but he’s equally as exhausted as the dancers and singers. It’s already seven, though the studio is still very much alive, but since his work with the music is done he took the time to nap on the floor in the far corner of the room. Saoirse shakes her head lightly, they’re both so neck-deep in work and it just doesn’t seem to end.

There’s a vibration on the floor, making Saoirse look, until her eyes find Timmy’s phone ringing on the floor by his legs. It must’ve slipped out of his pants. She would have woken him up if it was any other person, but it’s Armie, so she answers. 

“Hey, hotshot, what’s good?” Saoirse drawls to the line, because if Timmy is asleep and neither of them can annoy him, they just turn to each other. 

“Aw, baby, you sound different today. Is it the tea?” Armie coos fakely, not even missing a beat. 

Saoirse snorts. “The tea jabs are getting old. And also, you act like you don’t curl up in a blanket drinking from a massive mug and eating biscuits.” 

“Yup, that’s me. You know what else I drink? Ti-”

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up!” 

Armie laughs on the phone. “Geez, you started it. I’m outside the studio, by the way.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know. Hang on, I’ll let you in.” Saoirse got up on her feet and crossed the room, walking to the door. 

There’s a sound of rattling teeth through the line. “Please, I’m freezing.” 

Saoirse grimaced. It’s fucking August. “Then freeze.” She hangs up and swings the door open, another snark at the tip of her tongue. It caught there and never got the chance to be said. Armie stood on the hallway, holding a bouquet of hydrangeas and peonies. 

“Were you fighting?” Saoirse asks, looking back into the studio to where Timmy is napping. 

Armie blinked at her, confused and surprised. “I - uh, what? Is he mad at me? I  _ did  _ say I was going to stay an hour longer at work.” 

“No, no, he’s not. He’s asleep.” Saoirse answers, holding the door open wider so Armie can see inside. “I meant, the bouquet.” 

“Ah,” Armie holds the flowers up, a lush arrangement with a simple wrapping, inspecting it. “Is it some secret flower language I don’t know? I was just going to ask him out.” 

Now Saoirse is confused. “You live together.” 

“Yeah, and?” Armie responds casually. 

“You still do that?” Saoirse asks, because who actually asks out their boyfriends who live under the same roof as them? 

Armie shifts from one foot to another. “Yes?” He confirms, unsure of what the conversation is about. 

They stared at each other for a lingering moment until they’re both uncomfortable about it. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Armie blurts.

Saoirse snorts, ushering him in. “You two just don’t expire, do you?” 

“Is that slang or you want us dead?” 

*******

Timmy has been sneaking around to get the things he needed for Armie’s birthday. The thing is, Armie just assured him that they’ll have the day to themselves, but not any more than that. It was fine, they can just stay in. It’s also the better option anyway, since at this point to get one day off means they have to work themselves to the ground for a week. For the past week, Timmy has allowed Armie to go ahead after breakfast, or whatever time he needed to go, instead of leaving the apartment with him. When he’s gone, Timmy would just about measure every bit of their apartment and scale it so he can sketch just how he wants the surprise to play out. It reminded him of when they were moving in. What a rotten task it must have been if Timmy did all of this on his own. 

For this year, Timmy got Armie a skeleton watch with gold metalwork and brown leather. He didn’t sketch it, because watches take up to a year to make, sometimes longer. What he did was customize it; the material of the band, the color, the hardware. There’s also an engraving underneath, for a more personal touch. When they moved in, one of the things Armie cleared out were his watches, simply because they were thoughtless, expensive gifts from associates or his parents. He got an agent to scour them and sold nearly eight percent of what he owned, the proceeds going to research funding. It’s fitting to start giving him ones that are actually meaningful, especially since it’s something Armie used everyday. 

The night before Armie’s birthday probably had been the first time in weeks that they had sex without rushing it. They strip each other and pause to make out in between, falling on the bed and rolling in the sheets. Armie kissed his chest to his neck then all over his face before engulfing him again in a kiss. He touched every inch of skin he could reach, relishing the fact that the day ahead belonged to them. 

“God, I missed this.” Armie breathed out as he descended on Timmy’s torso, trailing kisses all the way down until he settled between his legs. 

Timmy parted his legs to accommodate Armie. “Why don’t you show me just how much?” 

Armie grinned at that, then got down to work. He stretched Timmy out gently with his fingers, kissing the insides of his thighs before taking his dick into his mouth. Timmy loved how Armie teased him, applying pressure against his prostate and sucking him to the hilt before slowing down again. He did it over and over until Timmy keened, begged him to fuck him already that he’s arching and falling back on the mattress with how eagerly he offered himself. 

The thrusts were deep and dragging as Armie took his sweet time to work up Timmy again. The pace had been so languid that Timmy didn’t really notice that they'd picked up speed until Armie was already pounding in him, his hips coming off the bed with the force of it. Timmy reached his hand out and Armie complied right away, bending to allow himself to be embraced. They continued to move like that, staring into each other’s eyes and sneaking kisses, until they both shudder and come. 

It was a task to stay awake after that round, but Timmy had to move. He took the box from his studio and arranged everything he’d need for the rest of the day. It was all planned out to the very last detail that he’s already slipping back to bed before Armie could tell that he was gone. 

Their day started with a breakfast in bed, which turned cold beside the bed because Armie took him to sit on his lap and fucked him. They ate cold pancakes and melted dessert, but whatever. Timmy gave Armie his gift after the stepped out of the shower, which he excitedly took out of the box and held up to stare. 

“First of all, this structure? Amazing.” Armie said in awe. That was a motivation for Timmy to get this; Armie is secretly a giant geek. “I’ve only had watches in exchange for favors.” 

“Well, I could use some kisses in exchange.” Timmy quipped, nudging Armie with his shoulder. 

Gently, Armie set the box down on top of the drawer, then turned to Timmy so he could pick him up and slam him against their wardrobe, kissing him filthily. 

“I’d do it without a watch, just saying.” Armie nibbled on the skin of his neck playfully. “I love you.” 

Timmy chuckled, carding his fingers through Armie’s hair. “I love you, too. Happy birthday.” 

It was indeed a great birthday. They return to bed to cuddle and talk, missing the incredibly easy dynamic of it when they’re uninterrupted. The other thing being, of course, sex, and when Timmy crawled down to blow Armie, they didn’t emerge out of the bedroom until lunchtime. 

“So basically, you’re feeding me for every round of sex.” Armie said smartly as Timmy served them their lunch. 

“That’s correct. Now eat up, we’ll fuck until midnight.” 

In the afternoon, Timmy played something for Armie on the piano. Because he wanted to be extra if he’s already being a little shit, Timmy brought out a sketch of Armie naked, except that it’s nearly the exact same pose as Rose from Titanic complete with the necklace. 

Armie was on the floor, laughing. “You can’t disagree with me on this. We’re hanging this in the bedroom.” 

The next time they went at it again was after dinner; a romantic, candle-lit affair because Timmy would never let the world know that Armie was actually more romantic between them. It worked, and he succeeded, because Armie was pretty floored by dinner, and they even slow-danced while making out in the middle of the apartment. Armie bottomed again, but not without teasing Timmy for not cleaning them up. He sure has more to say about it, but Timmy pretty much fucked their brains out until midnight. Just like he promised. 

So yeah, Timmy did a lot of sneaking around in preparation for Armie’s birthday. The way it turned out made everything beyond worth it. It was a great fucking celebration, and they came out of it with renewed fervor for each other. 

What he began to notice was Armie sneaking around just the same. Okay, not entirely. There weren’t suspicious boxes showing up to their flat or any other changes for that matter. Everything Timmy noticed was behavioral, and it made him feel alarmed. He trusts Armie, of course, so the first week he noticed him hanging up the phone whenever Timmy was around or hastily closing a tab, he didn’t really mind. But then the sneaking around continued for another week, yet still Timmy didn’t pry, although he can’t say he’s not keeping an eye on every twitch. 

“Where were you?” Timmy asked from the couch as Armie walked into their flat. He didn’t mean to sound hostile, but he’s antsy about it. 

Armie blinked, taken aback but not going on the defensive. “I was at work?” He answered. “Am I forgetting something?” 

Timmy deflated. Armie stood frozen by the door, genuinely alarmed by how Timmy greeted him. “No, no, it’s just-”  _ There’s something you’re not telling me and I want you to,  _ he wanted to say, but there’s no use forcing it out. “You’re off early today. Let’s make dinner?” He changed his disposition altogether, smiling at Armie as he stood up and gave him a kiss. 

Armie actually sighed with relief under Timmy’s touch. “Yes, please.” 

If it came down to that, Armie clearly isn’t lying to him, but knowing he’s keeping something isn’t much of a comfort either. Timmy doesn’t cancel out the possibility that he’s reading too much into it, which might exactly be the case, but every time he asks, Armie would just dismiss it as work or bureaucracy. You can’t just hang up like that on formal matters. Timmy watched out for this tell, walking into Armie repeatedly so he knew it wasn’t some isolated incident. 

It’s been a week of experimenting like that, and Timmy heard Armie on the phone again in his study. He’s blurting out instructions, but they’re too vague to make sense. Timmy feels a twist in his gut for eavesdropping like this, yet he tries to sit through it, only to give up and enter the study with two mugs of coffee. 

Armie’s eyes landed on him, surprised with the sudden entrance. He smiles anyway, then begins to excuse himself to the person on the other line. 

“You don’t have to hang up every time you see me, you know?” Timmy says carefully, because anything less than that would be passive-aggressive towards Armie and that’s  _ not _ how he wants to go about this.

Frowning, Armie takes the other mug and leads them on the couch across his desk. “Of course I do.” He tells Timmy as they sit down. Clearly, he expected Timmy to snuggle, but didn't say anything when they sat facing each other instead. “Something wrong?” 

Timmy looks at him carefully, not wanting to miss a thing when he questions. “Why?” 

Armie smiles, reaching out to tuck the stray curl behind his ear. “Our schedules don’t sync. When you’re free and I could get out of a call, of course I’d pick you.” 

Well, that’s true. Timmy feels silly by the end of it, but Armie doesn’t say a thing still. He doesn't comment on it or tease him. Instead, they snuggled together, making out in between sipping their coffee, like nothing happened. Timmy has been convinced enough. There’s hardly anything to worry about. 

That line of thinking only lasted Timmy a couple of days. It was fine, but only for as long as Armie was around. The moment they part, Timmy would be left with this sinking feeling that there’s this unknown thing looming over them and that he’s beyond blindsided by the situation. 

“Sersh,” Timmy called suddenly, interrupting the story that Saoirse is telling. “Do you think Armie would cheat on me?” 

Saoirse looked offended initially for being rudely cut off, then her face shifted into utter disbelief. “What?” She actually looked irritated that this is even a topic of conversation. “Armie? Like your boyfriend? The guy who moved in with you because you’re his entire world and still asked you out on dates with flowers in tow? That Armie? I don’t know, let me think.” 

Timmy rolls his eyes but he blushes anyway, embarrassed to hear it but can’t really help how he felt. “I’m serious! I mean, of course, I don’t think that, but I’m running out of things to tell myself! I just can’t find an explanation for it, and every time I’d confront him I  _ know _ he’s not lying to me, but I can’t shake off this feeling that there’s something going on.” 

Finally, Saoirse is considering him seriously. “Tell me about it.”

*******

It was an ordinary day at the office; contracts in the mornings, meetings before and after lunch, some more contracts, some revisions until Armie’s eyes crossed and his vision blurred. He brewed his own coffee, just as he’s always done since he got the espresso machine, and Jenny came up to his office to bring him afternoon snacks. Everything goes like they always do, maddening and tedious, except that Saoirse barged into the lounge some time after lunch and didn’t leave until the reception rang Armie’s office and he told them to let her up. 

Saoirse is sitting on the armchair in front of his desk, arms crossed over her chest and glaring. 

“Do you want some tea?” Armie asks, because as much as they’re friends he’s pretty terrified of Saoirse. 

“Timmy thinks you’re cheating on him.” There was no warning to it. Saoirse just jumped the gun and Armie gaped for what felt like a minute. “He told me last time we were out.” 

Armie’s brain goes overdrive, desperately going through every significant memory he could conjure to look for any sign as to why Timmy came to  _ this _ outrageous conclusion. 

“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly my face too when he told me.” Saoirse grips the armrests of the chair. 

“I - I’m not-”

“I know! Your  _ face! _ ” 

Armie doesn’t know what to do with himself, his stomach churning at the thought of Timmy. 

Snorting, Saoirse says “Do  _ you  _ want some tea?” 

“Why? Why did he say that?” Armie forces himself to be analytical about it, taking a step away from the situation so he can use his reason. 

Saoirse sighs, leaning forward and massaging her temples. “Okay, I want you to brace yourself, you know how badly he narrates. Basically, you’re acting strange. I don’t know which comes first here, but you hang up when he comes in, and you don’t talk about things…”

Armie tried, he really did, but for the life of him he can’t get past the white noise that bursts in his head. It was already hard enough as it is, with the jeweler living literally in another continent, and they rely on sending pictures in order to get the modifications going, but to hear that Timmy’s impression of him going to the exact opposite of where Armie is taking their relationship… Well, that was a lot. 

“And then, every time you’re together, it’s fine. He said he felt fine, but when you leave,” Saoirse gestures to the space in front of her, eyes wide in disbelief. “He said he  _ knows _ something’s up, and he can’t take it. He’s afraid that things are about to come down, and the other shoe is about to drop and you’re losing interest-”

“I’m proposing.” Armie blurts out, the ringing in his ears finally subsiding as he hears Saoirse relay Timmy’s concerns. 

They gape at each other, dumbfounded. Saoirse actually gulped loudly, blinking all around the office like she’s reorienting herself. Slowly, she sinks on the armchair, her brain visibly tossing and turning. 

Pulling his laptop out, Armie opens it on his desk, clicking the tab where he kept a correspondence with Domizio. He glances back at Saoirse who still hasn’t recovered. “We need something stronger than tea, don’t we?” 

“Yes. Do you have bleach?” 

“I was thinking scotch.” 

“Why did you tell me this?!” Saoirse whines openly, kicking her feet around. “I can’t keep a secret!” 

“You’re an actress. You sign NDAs all the time.” Armie points out. 

Saoirse points a finger at him accusingly. “That’s different, because I don’t have to pretend I don't know anything, I just don’t say shit.” 

“Fuck, I want to go home.” Armie tugs at his tie until it comes off, his skin feeling irritated by the constriction. “I can’t believe he thinks I’m cheating!” 

“Okay, he didn’t really say that. He just asked me if I think it was possible - don’t give me that look, I said an extended version of ‘no’ - and then he proceeded to that rant about you being right there but not at the same time.” Saoirse explains, and they’re both strangely out of breath with how they bomb each other with information. “How were you even going about this? How did he get there?” 

Knowing Timmy and just how impatient he can be, he would sometimes have arguments that haven’t happened play out in his head, and you’ll just be left to catching up to where he is when he finally decides to verbalize it. Armie didn’t think that how he was keeping touch with Domizio was strange, but maybe that’s just how transparent you become when you’re living together. 

“Well, we’re going to have to back up all the way to our last day in Italy.” Armie starts, frustrated and itching to call Timmy instead. 

“Must be a fucking stretch.” Saoirse remarks mockingly. 

Armie leans back, pinching his nose. “Do you want to hear it?” Saoirse responds by making a zipping gesture with her hand, her mouth closing along with it. “We were at this artisan souvenir shop in Italy, and I sort of strayed and found their artisan jewelries. I was just thinking of getting him some accessories, but then I saw their selection.” 

“They’re so pretty they made you want to propose?” Saoirse asks in confusion after Armie trails off. 

“No, I already knew I wanted to ask him to marry me before that.” To Armie’s surprise, Saoirse smiles at that. “What?” 

She shakes her head but makes no effort to suppress her grin. “He’s going to say yes. I’m sure you know but I’m just giving you the best friend’s vote of confidence.” 

Armie feels his face heat up, but he can’t help asking. “Really?” 

“You’re not going to slow him down, or hold him back, or whatever other bullshit the worms in your brain want to say. You’re the best of him.” Saoirse states solemnly, holding his gaze as her eyes pierce into his. She doesn’t wait for him to respond and just gestures for him to continue. 

Clearing his throat, Armie smiles back despite his chest closing in on himself. “Basically, the owner sent his granddaughter to distract Timmy, and I got to pick a ring, but you know it’s not that easy. I paid for it, just the initial balance, and we’ve been in touch so we can modify it. I’m on the phone with him a lot of times, or his granddaughter, or his sons.” 

“Wow,” Saoirse breathes out. “This is surprisingly wholesome and I’m very offended to be here for it.” 

“Why?” 

“I, too, would want a multimillion-dollar boyfriend who’s crazy about me, and I don’t have it. I’m shocked and upset.” 

Armie thinks about their options. “So? Do you want to see it?” 

“Fuck yeah! Where?” Saoirse is up and out of her chair in a flash, walking behind the desk to stand beside Armie’s chair. 

Sliding the laptop on the surface, Armie tilts the screen so Saoirse can see it better. “It’s originally just gold with turquoise inlay, and then for some reasons Pippa - she’s the one who talked to Timmy to buy me some time - asked if I’d consider a black inlay, just an outline along with the turquoise. Domizio sketched it and she rendered it, so we came up with this. His son sourced some meteorite for the additional inlay then from there they’re just adjusting it to Timmy’s ring size.” 

“Jesus Christ, Armie,” Saoirse gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at the digital sketch for the ring. “This ring; it’s  _ Timmy. _ ” 

“Yeah, I think that’s why I knew this was it.” Armie replies, staring at his screen with Saoirse leaning over his shoulder. 

“And now this is a secret I  _ must  _ keep to myself, you cruel son of a bitch.” Saoirse glares at him, but her eyes look far too thrilled for her words to bear meaning. 

Armie laughs. “Well I hope so. I mean, it’s not here yet.” 

“You’re gonna have me running around like a headless chicken.” 

“Welcome to the club.” 

From then onwards, Armie is decidedly more careful about where he attends to their calls and correspondence. What he didn’t expect was his dumb quip of a club of headless chickens turning into an actual one, as people in his circle find out. Apparently, deep inside they’re a collective bunch of nosy middle-aged people in curlers and cardigans. 

The first to follow Saoirse into the club is, to nobody’s surprise, Jenny. They were going through the appointments that they have, literally two days after Saoirse came by, and then she stumbled upon this email because Armie is an idiot and his personal account was logged on while his laptop was wide open on top of his desk. 

“That’s a ring.” Jenny said blankly, like she’s in a total state of shock and forgot what playing it off should look like. 

Armie felt a rise of panic, wanting to reach over and close it and start begging Jenny to take a leave until he actually popped the question because he doesn’t know how to handle people knowing his plan. 

Turning her head, Jenny gawked at him then pointed back to the screen. “That belongs to Timmy.” There’s certainty in her voice that Armie knew she didn’t need confirmation. 

“What makes you say that?” Armie asked instead, deflecting but still curious. 

“The colors, the design, the general look of it. It can’t be anyone else’s.” Jenny told him, her eyes fixed on the screen as she described what she saw. 

It warmed Armie’s heart to heart that; a validation for his choice of the ring he modified as much as a plain round band would hold on its flat surface. “Yeah, it’s his.” 

Jenny finally had her fill in taking in the sight of it. “Any time now?” 

Armie considered Jenny for a moment, a woman happily married to her high school sweetheart raising a daughter in the most loving household she can provide. “Very soon,” he confirmed. 

So Jenny was fine. Even though it took her a full hour to realize what she just found out and finally absorbed the news for what it was. It’s okay even if she plummeted their combined productivity by thirty percent because she squealed and stared at the ring and gushed all over his office. It’s all good, Armie understands. Frankly, he can relate. 

The day after Jenny was his brother’s turn. It would never occur to Armie that it would be so soon, but there you go. Viktor finding out was reminiscent of the way Saoirse stormed into the company, demanding answers. They had been in a conference that took up most of their morning when Viktor asked why Timmy wasn’t coming over for lunch, like a offhand question just to start a small talk. 

Viktor waved a hand to his face when he just stared off. “Armie? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. He did ask, earlier, but I said there’s something I need to take care of.” Armie answered, pulling his phone to check his inbox. 

“You’re free  _ now. _ ” Viktor pointed out, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“I’m expecting a call.” Armie rolled his eyes. 

That derailed Viktor for a second. “Oh? I thought no more?” He looked like he was going to ask Jenny when he turned around. 

“It’s a personal one.” Armie clarified. He felt like he needed to defend himself at the same time that he didn’t want to say a thing at all. 

Of course, Viktor caught on. “Are you lying to Timmy?” 

“What?” Armie actually felt offended at that. 

“Dude, there’s really nothing to do.  _ You  _ would never miss a chance to hang out with him even if you literally live together.” Viktor crossed his arms over his chest, challenging. 

“I’m not - can you all have a little faith in me?” Armie stood up, ready to defend himself, but his phone finally rang, so he just settled to glaring at Viktor. “I am expecting a call.” He didn’t wait for Viktor to respond as he turned to walk away, answering the call. 

It had been short, which definitely didn’t help to appease Viktor as he glared across the room. He was hanging up after a few, brief replies, and then the call was done. 

“What are you doing?” Viktor looked ready to fight. It would’ve been nice and comforting to know how protective Viktor was of Timmy, except that the hostility was directed at him and that just won’t do. 

“I’m reserving a place, okay? Just one weekend.” Armie admitted, tossing the phone on the couch. 

Viktor was taken aback by that, but not completely deterred. “And it’s a surprise?” 

“Well, if you keep your mouth shut, then hopefully.” Armie snarked. 

Snorting, Viktor’s suspicion began to melt away as he leaned on his chair. “God, look at you. If you hadn’t been like this to Timmy since day one, someone would think you’re proposing.” 

Clearly, he meant it as an offhand comment, like a passing thought that he didn’t see the harm of saying out loud. Armie froze on the spot anyway, eyes darting back to the phone and generally just itching to do something else. 

“Wait, holy shit.” Viktor was looking at him with eyes wide as saucers. “You are! You’re fucking proposing-”

“Viktor, shut your fucking mouth.” Armie whipped his head around even though no one was in the room to hear them. “Jesus Christ, you actually say shit like this on the top of your lungs?” 

“But you are?” Viktor asked again, calmer now. 

Well, no use to lying now. “Yes.” 

Apparently, Viktor’s tried and tested method for keeping a secret involved ghosting them until the coast is clear. For what it’s worth, he’s not so bad with secrets, he’s just unwilling to get involved with going around Timmy’s back. That’s fine, Armie had no plans of making a habit out of it. 

What Armie failed to take into serious consideration was the fact that he decided on LA. Liz invited Armie and Timmy to her place because she was building Christmas recipes for her bakeshop. Obviously, she only needed Timmy for this, and Armie’s just there because of their friendship and his dangerous love affair with sweet treats. Because of some work backlog, Timmy told them he’s going to be an hour late, which left Armie alone in Liz’s enormous kitchen, snacking on literally every jar that had candy in it. 

A phone ring got a hold of both of their attentions, both momentarily thinking it might be Timmy. Maybe fate just had no kindness left to spare for Armie as he showed the caller ID to be his father. 

“Hello?” Armie was already wincing, Liz watching him from the counter with sympathy. 

Michael didn’t waste a moment. “You’re reserving a private villa in LA. You’re going away again?” He sounded irritated. 

“Yes.” Armie forced himself to sound just as stern. 

“With Timothée?” The tone of the question gave nothing away. 

“Yes? Who else will I bring?” Armie asked, letting his irritation come through. 

“Ah,” Michael said in acknowledgement. “You’re proposing.” 

Armie was so shocked that his brain couldn’t formulate a response even if he wanted to. For such a detached father, Michael sure knew which direction his children would turn to. Maybe it’s just a knack for reading people. It is, after all, important in business. 

“Well, you’re old enough.” That was all Michael said before he hung up. 

Michael finding out was immediately followed suit by Liz finding out. 

“What? You look like he put you in arranged marriage.” Liz snorted, pelting him with an M&M. 

Well, since it’s already here… “He found out I’m planning to go to LA with Timmy.” Armie tells her, somehow feeling like it’s right to do so. “To propose,” he added, watching Liz’s face bloom into shock and then joy. 

“Oh my God! Armie!” Liz was dusting herself off so fast so they could hug. “Who else knows?” 

It made Armie snort. “Well, Saoirse, Jenny and Viktor, then dad, in that particular order because they’re nosy. You’re the first one I told.” 

Liz looked surprised by it. “I’m flattered? Why?” 

Armie shrugged. “You introduced us. And, I don’t know.” He struggled to put it to words, but he tried anyway. “I want to thank you, more than anyone, for seeing what you did and putting us together.” 

Liz was absolutely touched by it. “Oh Armie, that’s the most you talked about your feelings to me!” She teased, pulling him in another hug. 

“Even when I came out?” 

“Are you kidding? You sat me down and told me ‘Liz, we can’t do this. I’m bisexual so I like men, too’ like I don’t fucking know what it means.” 

They both laughed at the memory. When Timmy arrived, Liz practically swooped him into the kitchen, saving Armie from a nervous breakdown. 

By the end of the week, the ring  _ finally  _ arrived, just in time for literally everyone in his life to know. So yeah, this proposal better be done soon because Armie’s world is getting smaller and smaller. 

*******

It’s pretty clear to Timmy that there’s no abating the sinking feeling in his gut until he talks to Armie about it. And yet, everything feels just the same as always when they’re together, whether at home or out on dates. Tim thinks it’s because his head is clearer when they’re apart, and he’s actually as perceptive as he really is when his senses aren’t assaulted by all things Armie. At the same time, he might just be crazy and there’s really nothing going on. 

That day, Timmy was hanging out with Saoirse again which, incidentally, was exactly what tipped him off the edge. They were just having tea in her new apartment, joking around about not having to deal with thin walls and annoyingly loud neighbors when Timmy thoughtlessly brought it up. 

“Do you think I’m just going crazy? With how worried I am with Armie?” Timmy asked as Saoirse cleared their plates. 

Saoirse rolled her eyes dismissively. “Well, duh? It’s Armie.” 

It’s just that short exchange, but Timmy can't shake it off even if they changed the topic already, even after they parted and Timmy went home that night. It’s an unsettling feeling when there’s no one else to turn to; like saying you’re not crazy in a mental institution, and it makes his skin crawl. He’s still nervous, he still feels like there are rocks dropping in his gut, he still hurts right in the chest, and that’s it, isn’t it? There’s no one else to turn to right now, no one else who could understand him. It all comes down to Armie. 

Timmy turned to his piano while he was waiting for Armie. He played furiously, a successive, hard slams of his fingers on the keys that his body rocks with every move. It took him a while of venting out on the poor, antique piano before he drifted slowly to a more melancholy tone. He stopped for a moment, letting himself feel, before he allowed his fingers to glide across the keyboard, gentler now, and Timmy ached with the music that he’s playing. 

There was no telling how long he'd been there and disturbing their entire floor with his incessant music, but the door opened eventually, and Armie walked into their apartment with a frown on his face. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Armie tossed his briefcase on the couch, shedding his suit jacket and tie as he walked over to Timmy. 

Timmy pushes himself away from the piano, the movement startling Armie and he just settles on watching Timmy as he meets him in the middle of the living room. 

“I can’t go on like this.” Timmy breathes out, his breathing already getting ragged from simply starting this confrontation. 

Armie flinched, looking at Timmy with wide eyes. “What do you mean? Is there something-”

“You!” Timmy snaps impatiently, all his pent up frustration rising now that they’ve started this. “You’re not here with  _ me _ no matter how much you say you are. You’re not.” 

“Did I miss something? What is it? I’m so sorry, please tell me what I’ve done I-” Armie shuts his mouth when Timmy whips back around to him, fuming. 

“You tell me!” Timmy replies. “You tell me what you’ve been up to, Armie, because I don’t have a fucking clue. I don’t know why you’re keeping things out of my reach but it would've been fine. I’m not a baby, I understand when certain things are just confidential. What I can’t stand is you!” 

Armie is pale on the face now, beads of sweat collecting along his forehead as he gapes at Timmy. “Angel, come on. You know I never lie to you.” 

“You don’t and that’s it, isn’t it? You’re keeping me at bay and I’m saying it’s okay. What isn’t is you not acknowledging that I  _ know  _ something’s up. Don’t play me as a fool because I’m not, and we’ve been in this long enough to know that doing things this way isn’t how we work.” Timmy rants angrily, but he’s not done, he wants to dig into this even if he buries himself by the end of it. “So you can quit this act right now or I’m just going to move away until you’ve sorted this out.”

A few seconds pass, each of them excruciating, and Timmy gets to see every shift in Armie’s face; how his jaw falls, his brows setting in a devastated crease, his eyes in utter shock. “Are you? Are we-”

“No! No, we’re not breaking up, but Armie, please, for my sanity. If you need space for whatever this thing is then you should have it, because I can’t exist in the same space as you and know that  _ you’re  _ the one who built this thing that stood between us.” Timmy touches Armie’s forearm, squeezing him to bring his attention back. 

Suddenly, Armie’s entire approach changed. “Let me just explain that I’m not going behind your back doing anything that would hurt you.  _ Timmy, _ you know how much I hate to upset you.” There’s desperation in the way Armie said his name, a cry, and Timmy is helpless to do anything else but heed it. “I was sneaking around because I’ve been taking care of something-”

_ Something,  _ Timmy’s brain repeats with spite. It makes him want to demand. “And just what? Armie, if there’s nothing wrong…” He turns and paces, running his hand through his hair. “I can’t stand this, this  _ thing _ between us, whatever this is. I felt you in Crema, Armie. I felt you there and I feel you now and I  _ know _ it’s not whole.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry it made you feel that way. I had no idea.” Armie steps into his personal space, holding him by the wrist. “Will you look at me? Please?” 

“What’s keeping you? I want you back.” Timmy feels the tears sting his eyes, but he holds Armies gaze anyway. 

Tenderly, Armie cradles his face and presses kisses from his forehead, to his eyes, his nose, and finally his lips. “You never lost me, please don’t ever think that I’ll ever choose to be anywhere else but by your side. I belong to  _ you. _ ” 

It felt good to hear Armie say that, and it settles Timmy’s nerves a bit. “Then why? Why are you hiding?” 

Armie huffs, a humorless laugh going with it. “This is definitely not how I wanted this to go. I had a whole speech to say and a weekend planned out, but I guess right here in the home we built piece by piece is still the best choice.” 

“You’re taking us on a vacation?” Timmy is completely disoriented now, not seeing this particular outcome in his bouts of overthinking.

“Sort of?” Armie responds, his hand rubbing up and down Timmy’s arm nervously. “I wanted to have a few days to ourselves again, because you’re right; we feel each other. And it’s hard out here when we’re battling with our schedules and compromising again and again, but I guess that’s telling, right? Because I still want this. I know we’ll return to this after every vacation or trip or getaway and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know you’d deal with more than just my borderline destructive forgetfulness and I’ll deal with more than just your mood swings and I don’t care. I love  _ you.  _ There’s absolutely no version of my life that I would choose over the one that I have right now. You’re all that I want that I’m glad to be done with the rest.”

Even though he’s already lost the battle of holding it together as he cried openly, Timmy still allows Armie all the time he needs to hash this out. Armie’s face looks so earnest, yet so apologetic for letting things to come to this. His face has fallen, a devastated downturn of his lips pulling at his face as he tugs Timmy to his chest, shushing him and dropping kisses on top of his head. 

They’re still standing together in the middle of their living room, and Timmy can see the dumb peach figurine they got from Italy out of the corner of his eyes. He takes a deep breath, calming himself, and then nods to Armie to continue. 

“Timmy,” Armie says his name again the same way he did earlier; pleading and sincere. “You’re the miracle in my life, and I’ve been doing all this because…”

Armie trails off, stopping, then turns quickly to his briefcase lying on the couch beside them. He reaches in and his hand comes out wrapped around something, his palm completely hiding it from Timmy’s view. Despite this, he still felt a thud in his chest, like his already erratic heartbeat still found a way to pound louder in his ribcage. Suddenly, Timmy is acutely aware of the change in the air, that they’re no longer hashing out the tension in their relationship but rather confessing into something bigger than Timmy ever expected. 

True to his intuition, Armie opens his palm between them, revealing a small hexagon of tapered, solid stone lined with intricate metalwork with a crystal lid, revealing a sole ring tucked between velvet cushions. When he realizes what’s happening, Timmy has stopped breathing altogether. 

Opening the case, Armie lifts his gaze from the ring and into Timmy’s eyes. “I wanted to ask, will you marry me?”

It was only until then that Timmy resumed breathing, and it came out as a ripping, full body sob. He puts a hand over his eyes and wipes the tears, nodding his head as his words fail him. Armie waits until their eyes are locked back together, and his exhilarated smile finally prompts Timmy to push the answer past the lump in his throat. 

“Yes, yes I-” Timmy didn’t manage more than that as he felt Armie take his hand and slip the ring into his finger. It burns on his skin like a branding, and Timmy welcomes it completely, pulling Armie down to his face and crashing their mouths together. 

There were no words that follow that, and they both know there’s no need for it. Instead, Armie brings them down on the couch, cradling Timmy on his chest as he sobs some more, crying a steady stream into his neck. Timmy feels relieved and shocked and absolutely over the moon, which is clearly not a very good combination for him as he fails to categorize just how to deal with it. Armie just keeps dropping kisses on his hair, soothing him with his touch and shushing him until he calms down. 

It took a while for his sobs to subside, but Timmy didn’t waste more time hiding in the crook of Armie’s neck. He pushed himself up on his hands, hovering over Armie, and they both laughed with relief. Gently, Armie puts a hand on his face, wiping the tear tracks on his cheeks, and Timmy finds that it’s not enough, he needs to be closer. Craning up his neck, Timmy puts his lips over Armie’s, his hands giving out beneath him as he falls right back into his embrace. Armie smiles into the kiss, hugging Timmy closer, making him sigh. It’s this that’s been missing; how they communicate without using their inadequate words, how they know exactly what’s going on because they are each other and it’s through this that they  _ feel.  _

“God, I’m  _ that  _ idiot who ruined his own engagement.” Timmy finally says, his forehead pressed against Armie’s as he holds his face with the hand where the ring sits perfectly. 

Armie nuzzles into his palm, smiling wider as he feels the round band digging into his cheek. “Is it ruined?” 

“No,” Timmy shifts until his back is on Armie’s chest. Stretching out his hand to show his long elegant fingers, now adorned magnificently, he adds “It’s absolutely perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that Timmy isn’t the type to snoop around on a surprise for him. Like, I just feel it. That’s his vibe.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahh 🥺 So here we are. I split the wedding and epilogue just because it makes sense like that, since the latter follows only time stamps. We’re here now in steadier, calmer waters, much like coming home. I hope it’s been as good for everyone as it was for me as I wrote this fic. Thank you so much for showing love.

The engagement had been long. The more they were planning it, the impossible it becomes. Armie didn’t mind one bit. They planned, adjusted, revised and then over again. Somehow, knowing they are to be married, no matter the delay, made them feel like they’re moving in a different time as compared to the rest. The weekend getaway didn’t go to waste, either. Armie still took Timmy to LA, in the private beach house he rented for them, and they still did everything Armie planned. 

“I’d wanted to propose to you, right here,” Armie walked them right to the edge of the cliff where the villa stood, overlooking the ocean while the sun set over the horizon. “I’d go down on my knee and hold this ring up to you, and ask you to marry me. Just like that.” He held Timmy’s hand in his, turning it under the warm light so the ring would reflect and shine beautifully. 

Timmy reached up to his face with his other hand, kissing him chastely, again and again. “I’d still cry a ton.” They laughed at that. “My impatience could’ve saved you a couple thousand bucks.” 

Armie laughed again, but shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give for you,” he said, and they returned to the beach house to spend the rest of their time tangled together. 

There had been a point where they stopped altogether because Timmy had a big offer. Armie was more than happy to encourage him to take it, and he watched Timmy spearhead a major classical music showcase for Juilliard that year. The planning only resumed by Christmas, another one that they spent with Timmy’s family, this time in Crema where Armie made up his mind to propose. They also celebrated Timmy’s birthday there, but he wasn’t interested in doing birthday stuff. Their wedding was still the priority, and that was his call to make so no one really argued. Armie got him his own harp for their home that year, and Timmy had a confusing minute of just gawking before Pauline smacked him. He was thankful, but sheepish that Armie bought it for him. Everyone who heard snorted. Even Marc Chalamet. 

That was quite an experience, to return to the villa with renewed passion; their commitment burning brighter than ever as they put in the details of their wedding and celebrate the holidays together. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Timmy started, and everyone in their family mocked him with a groan. 

“Oh please, _no,_ ” Pauline groused, already acting pained. 

Timmy grimaced at everyone in the living room where they gathered by the fireplace. Chuckling, Armie pulled him to his chest and kissed his cheek. “Don’t act cute on me right now. I heard you groan.” 

Pauline looked at Armie and laughed. “Ha! You thought.” 

“I’m just kidding,” Armie laced their fingers together, kissing Timmy’s knuckles to appease him. “Come on, let’s hear it.” 

“I thought of maybe, holding the wedding here?” Timmy asked. “This property is big enough, and we have such a short guest list, too.” 

Armie felt his heart swell at the idea. Nodding, he answered “Yes, let’s do it here.” 

And so they planned again, this time agreeing on a spring wedding. Nicole made a delighted sound when she heard of the timing, swearing that it’s even more breathtaking to be here at that season. Armie had no idea of the European landscape, but he’d put his life in the hands of these people. Trusting them with the time of his wedding didn’t sound too big anymore. 

Since they were back in Crema, Armie took Timmy to the artisan shop that he got his ring from. Armie had gotten back in touch with Domizio some time after their engagement, telling him that they’re considering having their wedding bands made by them too. It was another extensive correspondence, and Armie made a jab to Timmy that he’s finally in on the process of designing a ring in another continent. They’d originally close for the holidays, but made an exception for them since it’s the only time they’re free to drop by. Timmy wanted his wedding band to be thinner, so he can stack it over his engagement ring. Armie just happily went along the process, his only input being he wanted his about eight millimeter thick. It wasn’t an overly long meeting, Timmy practically glided through it given that he’s an artist himself and _then_ spoke fluent Italian. Their wedding bands are black tungsten with narrow gold inlay, specked lightly with blue-green only visible under the glare of light. It complemented Timmy’s ring perfectly. 

On top of that, Timmy designed and sketched their suits himself. Armie might even say that it was one of his most favorite parts of planning their wedding, along with designing their rings. It was an extensive process as well that took them weeks to finalize. They first talked about how they wanted each other to look like, and Timmy squashed any possibility of Armie wearing black and white at their wedding. 

“Come on, you’re marrying me and you wanted to look like you’re attending a funeral?” Timmy pointed the pencil threateningly at his face as they cuddled on the floor of their living room. 

It was like a project that they’re both working on at that time. Timmy would show Armie a revision on the sketch, or Armie would come up with something else to add, and they changed it up and drew over it and then back again until the sketch reflected their ideas perfectly. The tailor had been Timmy’s choice, a French man who he knew way back and had done countless suits for him. 

Timmy showed some of his past works to Armie as they lie on their bed. They were very skillfully made and extremely polished from top to bottom. “Remember that magenta suit I was wearing on our first date? He made that.” 

“Contact him right this instant.” There’s no argument that followed that. 

The wedding expenses were actually cut way below Armie ever thought weddings to cost. They hardly needed any professional help with the planning, since it’s happening in a family property and Timmy is an actual professional artist. Pauline insisted on taking care of the pictures and videos, telling them it would be her gift. Timmy told Armie later on that she assembled a professional team from Paris to cover their wedding. It was insane, and they were left with very few things to worry about from there. 

Marc and Nicole told them to list down what they would need for the ceremony and reception, so they can source it around the town since they’re more familiar with it. Dru only found out that Armie was getting married in January, and since they had such a short guest list Armie told her that if she brought anyone that wasn’t included in it, she’ll end up humiliating herself. That’s the most effective way to deter her anyway. His mother would do anything to save face. Michael, on the other hand, sent a lump sum to cover ‘anything you’d need.’ Timmy and Armie looked at the figures and then to each other. It didn’t take long for them to agree to send it over to a foundation of their choice anonymously. 

It might’ve come as a surprise to many that Armie and Timmy weren’t up at each other’s neck while planning the wedding. Well, for starters, it helps to have a fiancé who definitely knows better than you. Also, Armie’s only source of happiness is Timmy’s. If he wants something done a certain way, Armie would hardly ever argue. The most they’ve fought over was the amount of dessert that’s deemed acceptable. Armie wanted an entire table of it. Timmy said he won’t be dealing with a sugar-high groom at his own wedding. 

On the night before they left for Italy, their friends threw them a separate bachelor’s party. It was a lot of fun; Armie can’t say he didn’t miss going out like that with his friends. They’ve gone bar-hopping again and had done a bunch of embarrassing stuff until they make it back to the hotel. In the end, the two groups contacted each other. The moment Timmy and Armie got drunk, they just wanted to be together, so they put them back in the same hotel room and let them pass out sprawled on each other. Armie had a legendary hangover when he woke up, for which Timmy teased him profusely for, but not without coddling him so he would feel better. It was nice, Armie loved it a lot. 

They went to Italy a week ahead of everyone. Nicole was right; it’s even more beautiful this time of the year. Timmy’s family took care of the place, and when they arrived they only needed to put a few more decors and wait a few more days for the flowers. Clearly, Timmy wanted to do more, to just get in there and put things up with his own two hands. Pauline threatened him with food poisoning if he didn’t leave and go around with Armie. So Timmy’s family employed some help from locals, Viktor and Liz joining them immediately after their arrival, and the place materialized as perfectly as Timmy had planned it. 

There’s a long-standing superstition that you’re not supposed to see each other until the wedding. Armie doesn’t believe bullshit that tells him he’s supposed to be away from Timmy. They’re made to stay in different rooms of the villa; Timmy in his own while Armie at the other end of the hallway. It took until midnight before everyone settled in their own beds, but every sound was amplified so Armie didn’t want to risk it. Because he’s six feet five and fit, it wasn’t all that hard for him to climb down his window. When on the lawn, Armie took careful steps to round the villa where Timmy’s room is, grateful to find the windows open. He turned to search the ground, finding twigs that he can throw into the room. 

Armie has thrown about a handful when he starts to think that maybe Timmy has fallen asleep. He backed up to try and get a better view of the room, only to nearly jump out of his skin when arms wrapped around his waist from behind. 

“It’s me,” Timmy whispered, gripping him tighter when he flailed. 

Ecstatic, Armie turned to face him, and then it took them both one look at each other to burst out in soundless laughter. “You sneaked out!” He whispered, his arms already closing in on Timmy. 

“I was looking for you!” Timmy answered in the same hushed tone, tilting his head up to kiss. 

It hadn’t even been long, yet Armie sighed into the kiss with relief. “Thank God, you found me.” 

“I know right? Imagine how big of a trouble it’d be if I thought you were sound asleep when I’m not around.” Timmy teased as he pecked on his lips quickly. “How did you get down?” 

Armie points to the structure of the house. “I climbed down my window. My feet could latch on to that wall edging, so I stepped on it, then gripped it to step down to the window on the first floor. You?” 

“I used the door like a normal person.” Timmy quips, making Armie roll his eyes. “Ballet, remember? I can move without making a sound.” 

“Good to know that if all things went south we can definitely turn to crime.” 

“I know right? You’re going to look so hot.” 

They stared at each other, then burst out into another fit of hysterical laughter. Timmy took him by the hand when they calmed down, leading him to the shed where they kept the bikes. They rode together until they arrived at the river where they liked to swim at dawn. Timmy strips down to his boxers, stopping Armie when he puts his hand on the hem of his shirt. 

“Watch me, then I’ll undress you.” Timmy had said. 

Armie enjoyed every bit of the skin getting exposed as Timmy rids each article of clothing. The wind is chilly since it’s spring, and he can see the goosebumps on Timmy as it blows. Not wasting a moment longer, Timmy steps into his space and pulls Armie’s shirt over his head; each bit of his torso being uncovered was quickly followed by a kiss. It made his eyes roll to the back of his head, slowly getting breathless from the touch. Timmy’s fingers begin to undo his pants, then pushes it down and allows Armie to kick it off. 

They come together in a kiss immediately after, their bodies relishing the feeling of each other’s warmth as they make out. The water is even colder than the breeze, making them both hiss, but neither made a move to stop walking to the heart of the river. They swim and dive in the river, coming up tangled together and kissing once they go over the surface. Timmy shamelessly gropes him everywhere, simply because his hands are free while Armie’s are busy holding him up in the water so they don’t drown. 

“Not fair,” Armie whines, kissing down Timmy’s neck and licking a filthy strip on his collarbone. 

“Let me have my moment.” Timmy gasps out, his hips moving underwater to get friction on his dick. 

Armie doesn’t argue anymore. Besides, he enjoys this too, having Timmy in his arms and guiding him where to plant kisses across his torso and up to his face. They make out just like that, floating in the water and dipping in then back up again. 

“Want me to blow you on the grass?” Armie whispers to Timmy’s ear, grinding their crotches together so their dicks brush against each other. 

Timmy gasped into the air but shook his head. “Let’s go back to the villa, do it all the way.” 

They swim back to land after that, wearing their clothes over their damp boxers because no one would see anyway. The ride back to the villa was pretty slow, both of them taking their time to look around the town when it’s only lit by the cool moonlight overhead. The moment they’re past the gate, Timmy and Armie were back on walking on tiptoes, Timmy more successful on not making a sound while Armie has had them both wincing on every twig he cracks as he takes a step. 

“Do you think you can climb back up? I want to see.” Timmy asks him as they stand side by side in front of his bedroom window. 

Armie’s eyes follow the lines on the house again. “Yeah, sure.” 

The climb is always harder, and it’s been an incredibly long time since he last did it on a coconut tree in the Caymans. Still, a promise of sex does miraculous things, and Armie was able to pull himself all the way up to Timmy’s bedroom window, and then hopping inside. He turns to look down and finds Timmy grinning giddily at him. Armie nods his head back, indicating the twin beds pushed together, and Timmy practically runs into the villa, soundless as promised, until he shows up to the door that’s left ajar, slipping into the space without moving it, then shutting it with an unnoticeable click. 

They pounced each other, shedding their clothes quickly as they could and falling on the bed. Their movements have a certain rush to them like they’re running out of time, and maybe that’s just an underlying effect of knowing they’re not supposed to be together right now. The thought only spurred Armie on further, flipping Timmy on his back and pulling off of his mouth. He descended on the expanse of his torso until his mouth ended up on his crotch. Lifting Timmy’s hips a little, Armie dives between his legs and begins to rim him in earnest, making Timmy squirm and twist on the sheets, biting into his fist to contain his moans. 

It felt like a challenge, and Armie knew they both felt the thrill of it all. He pushes his fingers along with the thrusts of his tongue, pressing on his prostate as he opens up the muscle. His free hand moves to Timmy’s dick, stroking and pumping it until Timmy comes off the bed and tugs at his hair. 

“Get in me,” Timmy breathes out, panting heavily as Armie rises to his face and kisses him. 

Armie keeps their mouths latched together as he pushes his dick inside, Timmy moaning quietly in his mouth as he pushes his hips up in the air to get Armie deeper. Once sheathed, Armie tries to move his hips in shallow thrusts, which Timmy encourages by bringing his hips down to meet him. They keep their pace slow and languid, kissing as Armie moves inside Timmy. They muffle each moan and grunt and mewl into each other’s skin, their favorite being in each other’s mouths. Timmy would throw his head back on a particular thrust, and Armie couldn’t hold back the urge to bite on the exposed skin of his neck. 

When Timmy reaches between them to jerk himself off, Armie’s hand wraps around his and helps to bring him to orgasm. When Timmy came, he tightened involuntarily, and Armie made use of the grip on his dick to get himself off, coming inside Timmy before collapsing on his side. In that moment, all that mattered were the two of them, the wedding momentarily forgotten. They stared at each other’s face, stroking their cheeks, kissing chastely. Neither of them could tell when exactly they drifted off. 

Right before the crack of dawn, Armie wakes. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours since they fell asleep, but it seems to have ingrained in him to get up in ungodly hours when staying in Crema. Timmy is curled into himself, facing Armie and shamelessly hogging the blankets. The breeze is colder now since it’s spring, but he’ll live. Carefully, Armie gets off the bed and deliberates if he should wear his boxers again. It felt silly at the moment, especially since the entire villa is out anyway, so he goes straight to the bathroom to fetch a towel. 

Armie returns Timmy still in the exact same position he left him in. It’s going to be hard to clean him up without waking him, but they can just fall right back to sleep easily. Peeling off the blanket is already a task, but Armie manages it. Timmy grumbles at the sudden blow of cold air on his skin, and Armie feels bad that he’ll be wiping him with a damp cloth on top of that. 

There hadn’t been much done when Timmy stirs and squirms on the bed, slowly regaining consciousness as his hand reaches out to the empty space beside him. 

“Right here,” Armie tells him, giving his leg a light caress. “Open up a bit. I’ll wipe you off.” 

Timmy complies sleepily, parting his legs and lifting his hips when Armie reaches under to clean everything off. 

“Do you want to wash off?” Armie asks, coming up to the bed and brushing Timmy’s hair from his face. 

“One second,” Timmy nuzzles into Armie’s hand. “I’m still half asleep.” 

Chuckling, Armie kisses Timmy’s forehead, letting him have as much time as he wants. If he falls back to sleep, that’s fine too. 

Timmy does get up after a couple of minutes, Armie sitting up along with him. “It’s fine, I can do it. You should go back to sleep.” He kisses Armie on the lips, soft and quick. 

“I’m already up. Come on,” Armie isn’t having any of it. 

When he’s standing on the floor, he helps Timmy on his feet who just watches him amusedly. He does show gratitude by pressing gentle pecks on his shoulder or his neck or his back, really any inch of Armie’s skin he can reach. It made Armie chuckle, and he brings Timmy to his side so they can get to the bathroom without breaking the hug. Once they were inside, Armie chuckled as Timmy leaned pliant on his chest, and he still did all the work of getting him clean. He didn’t need to say a word about it as Timmy pinches his flank. 

“You could’ve listened to me when I told you to sleep. You did this to yourself.” Timmy mumbles, and Armie can hear the smile in his voice as he takes a towel to pat him dry. 

“Nope, no regrets.” Armie says, letting Timmy get up. 

The towels get thrown into the hamper and they pick up their clothes to hang on the foot of the bed. They climbed on the bed together, Armie sitting with his back on the headboard as he opened his arms to Timmy. 

“You’re not sleeping yet?” Timmy asks, sitting with Armie rather than lying down. 

Armie shakes his head. “I think my body remembers our sleeping schedule here.” 

Timmy laughs softly, snuggling to Armie as they sit together on the bed. “Well, if we’re following the same routine, that clean up would go to waste.” 

“I mean, I won’t say no,” Armie teased, brushing his fingertips on Timmy’s back and laughing when he shivers. 

“Sure you won’t.” Timmy sniggers, flicking his nipple. 

Armie laughs again, his body instinctively shying away. “Let’s not have either of us limping tomorrow.” 

“Wow you’re right. Your dad’s going to be there.” Timmy says thoughtlessly. 

It made their skin crawl. “Why do you have to say that?” Armie grouses. 

“I don’t know, I feel disgusting.” Timmy buries his face in Armie’s neck, mortified with his own remark. 

The way that his parents were brought up in the conversation was beyond unappealing, but Armie realized it was a necessary realization. “I know we’re exchanging vows tomorrow, but I want to say most of mine to you alone.” 

Timmy pushes himself upright, staring in his eyes. “Why’s that?” 

“You’re the best thing in my life, you already know this. I don’t feel all that thrilled to leave that completely vulnerable to my parents, given the way that they are. I’d protect you from that will all that I’ve got.” Armie says, taking Timmy’s hand in his own and twisting his ring on his finger. “I’m pretty good with my words, at least when it comes to you. Anywhere else I’m just pretty dense. You know I feel so much for you that I just have to find ways to let some of it out.” 

Timmy nods, understanding, then reaches up to kiss him briefly. “Then I’ll say most of mine, too.” He smiles at Armie, and he’s helpless to do anything but return it. 

Armie takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I’ve made peace with how my life was going before we met. I figured I would just keep going out, settle down with a nice enough woman that I know I can stand for the rest of my life, if we’re lucky maybe we’ll get along, too. So you see, when I met you I couldn’t believe that you’re someone I get to have. I was in awe right from the start and I’m still now.”

It hasn’t even been that long, but Timmy is already taking steadying breaths as Armie speaks, his eyes already shining with unshed tears. 

Before he continues, Armie pulls him to kiss his forehead. “I know I owe it to everyone I bring in my life to return as good as I take, but I’ve never quite made that commitment. You didn’t magically undo all my years of repression and reservation. I saw it every time we’re together, I feel it when we touch, I hear it in your voice, and each day I believe more and more that what you bring in my life isn’t just a possibility. It’s already mine. It’s with you that I wanted, more than anything, to just _give._ To keep on giving until it shows you just how much I am absolutely in the palm of your hands. I love you, and the process of it made way for the best version of me that I’ve seen. And everyday I strive that I am also the man you deserve.” He takes a deep breath, considering if there’s still more he’d like to add. “There. The rest is good for the general audience.” 

Timmy laughs, but it’s shaky and his tears have already spilled. He nods first but taps lightly on his chest, making Armie laugh lightly with him. They embraced for a moment, then Timmy pried himself off his arms to kiss him, lingering and sweet. 

Wiping his tears, Timmy takes a few deep breaths before speaking. “My turn,” he says, and they laugh, coming together to kiss again. “I don’t think I have enough words for just how grateful I am to have you in my life. I know I’ve grown so much and for the better and it’s all because you inspire me greatly. Since day one, I am just in awe, with the way you look at me, and you never failed to make me feel what you see in me. Which I still can’t believe, because I’m impatient and jealous and frankly irrational at times.” 

Armie couldn’t help but laugh at that, earning himself another pinch on the belly. Timmy mock-glared but laughed too, leaning forward to kiss briefly. 

“You’re a dream. You’re what everyone talks about in classical romance and you’re the muse of all in arts and the dedication for every music. It’s you between us who’s boundlessly glorious, and the more I am by your side I find myself remade, _reimagined,_ and yet we complement just right. I’m so, so lucky, that this love that you have for me translates all that I couldn’t put into words, and you understand me and you _love_ what you find still.” Timmy is breathing heavily as he finishes, blowing out air then pushing his head to fall on Armie’s chest. 

Armie gapes, still astounded with the candor and eloquence that Timmy can express himself with; how he’s so in touch with his emotions that he can lay it down with such flowing cadence. He waits until Timmy lifts his head before talking. “As far as I’m concerned, I married you tonight.” He takes Timmy’s hand, kissing each knuckle as he keeps their eyes trained on each other. 

“Then so do I.” Timmy threads their fingers together, using this grip to pull them together into a kiss. 

*******

When Armie stirs, he can feel the piercing morning light on his eyelids, and even more the shaking on his side as Timmy tries to muffle his laugh on the crook of his neck. Grunting, Armie opens his eyes to a dark mop of hair shoved on his chest, then finally the cause of this hysterical fit as Viktor and Pauline stand over their bed, looking massively unimpressed. 

“It’s one night, literally less than ten hours apart. How hard is that?” Viktor doesn’t sound like he’s even mad, he’s just wondering. 

It was Pauline who’s really visibly pissed off. “ _Get up, you two still have to get ready. Don’t think that because it’s your wedding day I won’t drag you by the ears. You, Armand,_ get back to your room.” She said more things in French to Timmy, picking up his shirt from clothes the heap of clothes on the floor and throwing it to his face. 

“Dude, I don’t understand French and I’m scared. Put some clothes on and get moving.” Viktor is holding back his laughter very well, but his face went red all over as a result. 

Timmy finally makes a move to get off him, careful not to get the blankets lower than their stomachs. “Alright but before anything else, get out, we’re getting dressed.” 

It was the best walk of shame in their lives. Armie would’ve waved all around if there was an audience to see it. 

Weddings are hectic, but only to everyone else who’s not the ones to be married. Or at least, in Armie’s experience. He only needs to say he needs his vest, his tie, his shoes, and someone would run around to get it for him. Maybe this is also a lingering trauma from having been thrown into highly stressful business situations from a young age and he’s dissociating, but hey, he’s functional, and it works out. 

Just as Armie was finishing with the last touches to his attire, something just had to go wrong in his day. Michael and Dru walked into his room, and every other person within the four walls of it froze and exchanged looks. 

“Can we have a moment, please? He’s our heir, you see.” Dru told off the entourage, and they were happy to scramble off. Viktor included. He fucked right out so fast that Liz stumbled on herself. 

Michael is already at ease, walking in like he owned the place. His usual bravado. Armie is already half angry just watching him. Michael leans on the back of the chair, his eyes finally leaving Armie’s as he stares to the ceiling instead. “You can relax a little bit, boy.” His father scoffed. “You’re not up for firing squad.” 

“Well, excuse me if it’s all I’ve ever known from you two.” Armie snaps, feeling defensive the moment he breaks out of his shock. 

Michael just snorted with a subtle amused upturn on his lips. Dru looked between the two of them, waiting. There’s no one else around anymore, they’re all free to do as they please. Who the triumphant will be remains to be seen. 

“How did you spend the sum I gave?” Michael juts his chin at him, demanding an answer. 

Armie didn’t even think to lie. “We donated it anonymously.” 

Dru just shrugs. “Well, it is such a small wedding. I doubt you spent a lot.” 

“It could’ve covered everything.” Michael estimates, and Armie hates how he’s right. 

“Are we liquidating our expenses?” Armie snaps, glaring at them. 

“No, but even that won’t be a very long list.” Michael stands up. “You’re marrying into an illustrious family and he’s also an heir. Hush, let me speak.” He glares down Armie until his protests die down on his tongue. “He’s a good match, but more than that, you love each other. It’s a luxury.” 

Armie gawked openly, not bothering to disguise his shock as he listened to his father. His eyes darted to Dru, waiting for her to say something malicious just so he can feel normal around them again. 

“Well, you know your father. His only concern right now is an heir.” Dru says, waving her hand as she talks. 

“And you? What’s your concern right now?” Armie wants to get this over with, to just rip the bandaid and proceed to better things like getting married to Timmy. 

Dru took a moment to consider. “Viktor,” she replies. 

Now Armie whips to his father, dumbfounded. Michael didn’t even bat an eye. “What are you gonna do?” 

Dru is shaking her head as she reaches forward. “No, no, not like that. You misunderstood-”

“Did I?” Armie cuts her off, ready to draw out this fight if it meant keeping Viktor out of their grasp. 

“Let your mother talk.” Michael fixed him with a stare, and Armie hates how ingrained it is in him to balk under his father’s command. 

“You came out, _well-_ ” Dru made a vague gesture at him, indicating his sexuality. “At the end of the day, you’re happy. And to know that, Viktor could take after a thing or two.” 

“That was your job.” Armie retorts spitefully. 

“We lived for other people, your father and I.” Dru said curtly. “It’s the price you pay for wealth.” 

Michael walks to the door and pauses, signaling that this conversation has come to an end. “You’re spared of it. You’re marrying well, and you’re marrying happily.” 

Dru takes the hint, nodding to Armie with a stern gaze. “We’ll see you at the ceremony.” 

They left just as they came. Armie couldn’t process most of it even if he tried. He stared at the doorway that they disappeared from for an unknown amount of time until a commotion down the hallway snapped him out of it. Just before he could step out to see what it was about, Timmy ran right into the room, barely stopping on his heels to avoid slamming into Armie. They both stopped to take a look at each other, both of them already dressed in their suits and styled for the occasion. 

“Hey, husband.” Timmy drawls as he gives Armie a slow once over. 

Armie is instantly into it, especially with how Timmy is walking slowly towards him with a sway on his hips. “Not until in an hour or two.” 

“Technicalities,” Timmy dismissed, putting his hands on Armie’s chest and running his palms flat across, feeling him under the material of the suit before pulling him by the lapel of his jacket. “You clean up good.” He says, going on his tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Oh, what the shit! You’re flirting already?” Armie opens his eyes to see Pauline grumbling by the door. 

Saoirse appears behind her and immediately rolls her eyes when she finds them standing together. “Your dumbass is supposed to ask him if he’s okay.” She scolds Timmy. “His parents, remember?” 

“I’m so tired of dealing with these two. You know what, see you downstairs. You’re walking down the aisle together anyway.” Pauline turns on her feet and stalks out of the room. 

Saoirse sighs, resigned but still hopeful. “Whatever happens, don’t have sex. Like, _please._ You have a yard full of people.” 

Armie looks at Timmy, who watched Saoirse walk away first before glancing back at him. They burst into laughter again, and Armie already feels so much better with Timmy around even after his parents turned his sanity upside down again. 

“What was that with your parents? Did they do something?” Timmy asks as he leads them to sit on the bed. 

Armie tucks Timmy under his arm, snuggling him to his chest. “No, no, it’s okay, I’m fine. I just-” He paused, struggling to find ways to put it. “I think my parents congratulated me?” 

Timmy freezes in his embrace, then blinks up at him. “Oh, wow. I-” He stops mid-sentence, grimacing a bit. “I guess that’s good?” 

“Yeah, I’m a little confused, too. Let’s take a moment.” Armie pulls Timmy tighter against him, inhaling his scent as he buries his nose on the top of his head. 

“Taking a moment better not mean you’re making out!” Pauline shouts from the corridor. 

*******

If it was up to Timmy, he would’ve liked to go all out during the ceremony. He would’ve had a production ready, he’s also pretty sure he’d take up most of it just from waxing poetry about how magnificent Armie is as a man. He’d definitely milk the moment to flaunt him all around his circle, because he does have it good. Instead, their ceremony was short and sweet, and that was perfect, too. Armie has a lot of reservations, especially with his words, but it was clearly just because he’s around his parents who he doesn’t trust all that much. 

What was left of the ceremony was lighthearted witty banters and earnest vows, enough to keep the spirits of the wedding high and their love seen and felt by everyone, yet none of the devastating intimacy that they bared their hearts with the night before. Now that they stood there, Timmy thought that Armie was right. It weighs more that they’ve already said to each other what they needed to. The walk down the aisle was braced with certainty on every step, and it was just thrilling, floating and joyful from there onwards. 

The entire ceremony to the reception couldn’t have gone better than it did. Timmy could tell that Armie was keeping an eye on his parents, but they were perfectly civil, if not stiff, and interacted with everyone with empty sociability. Viktor and Liz seemed to be keen on Michael and Dru too, sacrificing an uninterrupted night of celebration in favor of monitoring them. Timmy couldn’t thank them enough if he tried. 

The celebration after had the intimacy and warmth of a crowd closely familiar with each other. Everyone was at ease to drag one another to dance, to pass on drinks, to deliver plates of food. The messages to the newlyweds were understood by a lot of the guests, earning laughs and whistles at every reference. All of it was so telling of the bond within their combined circles. It went above and beyond their expectations. 

*******

On the first night as husbands, Armie and Timmy were given a new room in the villa, the other master’s bedroom at the far back, facing the orchard. It was more spacious and had an actual bed rather than two twins pushed against each other. They’re both lightheaded from the wine and the high from the wedding, kissing as they strip each other down and laughing in each other’s mouths. 

It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since they were last together in bed, but the difference is stark with every touch. Armie pauses to stare at Timmy, stroking his face with reverence and he allows him, locking their gazes to each other and giving Armie a small smile. There’s a sigh, then a slight shake of his head, like he still can’t believe that they’re here, so Timmy pulls him down flushed against his body to remind him just how real it is. Armie dives to kiss him, and they roll and move against each other between the sheets like that. 

Timmy cradles Armie in every push and pull he makes; from running his hands throughout his body to thrusting in him as they go. Neither of them could’ve been prepared for how blindingly happy they would be afterwards, how the connection that they thought was deep has gotten even more profound. It’s past knowing that they are one and feeling it to their core. They’re more of each other than they will ever be by themselves. 

Armie shudders quietly, emptying himself inside as they sink together in another kiss, embracing and basking under the gravity of this milestone in their life. They were reduced to absolute speechlessness, only managed to exchange smiles and caress and they lay on the bed face to face. If anything needed to be said, they communicate it through a kiss, and both of them would know, plain and simple. They were in the middle of nothing and everything, and it’s just right. Just enough. They don’t need anything more than this. 

*******

For their honeymoon, Timmy had been left to believe that they would spend the next four weeks in Switzerland. When they’re boarding for Greece, Timmy whipped around in alarm, until Armie steps in to explain that it’s a surprise. It was a difficult trip from there, because Timmy’s impatience could not allow him to sit still. He kept asking Armie for clues, bargaining and pleading until he just acted like a brat, but Armie never caved in. 

It was all worth it. Armie takes Timmy to a beach house facing directly to the ocean. Timmy roams around and skips throughout the villa, enamored by the location where they would spend the rest of their honeymoon. 

“When did you book this?” Timmy asks, gripping the railing of the glass front deck, gaping at the view. 

Armie walks up behind him, hugging him around the middle. “It’s ours.” 

Timmy tilts his head in confusion. “Ours? Did you-” He struggles out of Armie’s embrace to look at him, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“I got it for us. Our own getaway when we want one.” Armie admits, watching closely as Timmy’s face breaks into an ecstatic smile. 

Timmy jumps into his arms, his legs locking around Armie’s hips and kissing him repeatedly. The first month of their marriage went along the lines of perfect and happy and vibrant. 


	27. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo alle! Here we are, at the time stamps of their lives. I’m so grateful to everyone who followed this fic to completion, thank you all so much.

**In the first two years** of their marriage, Armie and Timmy had gone through the glorious phase of constant excitement and thrill and longing for each other. They returned to Greece at every chance they got. It became a project for them too. It was furnished when Armie bought it, but they both jumped on the chance to modify it to their taste. Being that it’s in another continent, it was much harder to keep things moving, but they managed. Once they returned for their second wedding anniversary, it was nearly as themselves as their New York apartment was. 

Their neighbors had been different each time they visited, mostly because the properties around them were rented off to tourists. The locals live further away from the beachfront, and the streets are lined with their businesses and restaurants that cater largely to tourists. It was a difficult neighborhood to be familiar with, but it’s fine. Armie and Timmy hardly ever come up for air when they could spend their time holed up in a private property facing the ocean. 

**In their fifth year,** Timmy told Armie that he’s ready to move into a bigger property. He has gotten a steady following in his fields, and the clients and contractors had been generous in compensating his talent. He also finished his master’s at Juilliard. By thirty, Timmy was one of the most promising figures in arts and classical music in New York. It was another exhausting process of raking through the city listings. It turns out, knowing exactly what you want or not doesn’t really make a difference in house hunting. 

“Should I call maman?” Timmy asked Armie as they paced the kitchen, an iPad and laptop opened on the countertop with Upper East Side real estate. 

Armie was already on the phone trying to pull strings. He gave him a nod before scrolling through their options and relaying it to his contact in the line. Their dinners consisted of this scenario; browsing and visiting then doing it all over again, until Armie saw a two-storey townhouse with six bedrooms and four bathrooms, two fireplaces, a balcony and rooftop deck. It was insanely expensive, and Timmy knew for sure it would run his savings dry. 

“You want it.” Armie remarked after their tour, their hands laced together as they stood on the pavement. 

Timmy pursed his lips, reluctant. “I do, but it’s not within my income bracket.” 

Armie frowned, then shook his head lightly as if chiding him. “Silly, you have me remember?” 

“You’re not my wallet.” Timmy whined at him. 

“Well, if you want, I don’t mind.” Armie teased him, nudging their shoulders together. Timmy scowled but he’s amused. “I’m just saying, there’s two of us now. We can split our share relative to our income. That’s what’s  _ fair, _ not fifty-fifty and empty your account.” 

Timmy wanted to protest still, but Armie went on to breakdown the cost and monthly of the townhouse, as well as the furnishings and renovations they’d do. They don’t disclose to each other their yearly income, but Armie’s rough calculations weren’t far off the mark. That was taken into consideration as he began to list the underlying fees they would settle following the down payment. Then, he turned on his heel and began to estimate the move, and Timmy could only gape at him with a lump in his throat. Jumping to wrap his arms around Armie’s neck, Timmy peppered kisses all over his face, sniffling and blinking back his tears. 

“You’re a dream.” Timmy told him. 

By New Year, they completed the move. It marked a new chapter of their lives, though at that time they weren’t ready to breach it yet. 

**It took the seventh year** before Michael turned on them, asking when they’re having a child. It was a business function for the company, so their encounter had been inevitable. It’s just that neither of them really expected this particular turn of event. The shock from the confrontation had been a result of their combined lack of foresight, considering Viktor had already settled down with a British-Russian supermodel and were expecting their second child at that time. Armie and Timmy just stood frozen and unresponsive until Michael scoffed, realizing he won’t get an answer with how badly he corroded their brain functions with just one question. 

“Are you ready for a child?” Armie asked Timmy as they snuggled in bed that night, overly tired from the exhausting party and even more so with the pressure from his father. 

Timmy took a few moments before answering. Armie smiled, kissing the top of his head in assurance. He already knew the answer just from the silence, and he wanted Timmy to know that it’s fine. 

Understanding, Timmy hid his face into the crook of his neck, crawling even closer. “A little more time?” 

“Angel,” Armie began sternly. “Please,  _ only _ when you’re ready. If we are having a child, I don’t want it to be born because my family forced you into conformity.” 

Timmy pulled away and looked at him with a frown. “And if I don’t want one? Ever?” He challenged. 

Armie didn’t even miss a beat, cradling his face into his hand and kissing him. “Then we will continue being the fun, wealthy uncles.” 

Timmy laughed at that, but he’s grateful for the understanding. 

**Armie noticed on the ninth year** that Timmy kept eyeing the two spare bedrooms on the same floor as them. He didn’t say a thing, choosing to wait until Timmy brought up whatever it was in his head that he wanted. It could be a studio, or a recreational space. Hell, if Timmy wanted to turn it into a sex den that would’ve been cool, too. 

What Armie wasn’t expecting was Timmy’s eyes lingering on Clara, Viktor’s toddler, with a new fascination that he never showed before. Armie didn’t try to read too much into it. Pauline had a son, and Viktor’s firstborn was also a boy, so he assumed that it was just an interest for a little girl since it was new in the scene. 

They had been roaming around to find a gift for Clara’s second birthday, and Timmy was strangely more fixated than he ever was compared to their last two nephews. It put Armie effectively on edge, not wanting to assume but hoping he’s reading the signs right. When Timmy picked up a pair of shoes that were definitely  _ not _ fit for Clara, Armie knew he was right. 

“I think,” Timmy started, lifting the shoes to their eye level. “It might be time.” 

Armie wasn’t breathing at all, waiting for him to put more details into it in case he’s reading the signs wrong. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

Timmy looked at him from under his lashes, sheepish for whatever reason. “I’ve looked into surrogacy these days. We could start trying.” 

It was a shame that they were in the middle of a shopping district. Armie wanted to jump and shout and spin Timmy all around. Instead, he took deep breaths in an attempt to calm his pounding heart, nodding his head. They were smiling at each other, all that they weren’t saying already written on their faces. 

**Their first decade together** was marked by the birth of their twins. Olivia was feistier between the two, whereas Aloïs was content to simply observe. The bedroom closer to theirs became the nursery, refurbished and decorated by Armie and Timmy as the pregnancy came along. Armie already knew that he was looking forward to this, but Timmy was apprehensive at best. The moment the twins were handed over to them, Timmy broke down in tears, finding it hard to breathe and leaning heavily against Armie. 

“Oh my - hi, hi, baby,” Timmy cooed through his tears, careful not to let them drop on Olivia’s skin but helpless on the onslaught of his sobs. 

Armie felt exactly the same; already so full of love for their twins, just as he exactly is for Timmy. They were allowed a few minutes, and they were overwhelming yet immensely gratifying. When the nurse came to take them, Timmy fell into his embrace and cried some more. 

“Thank you, for waiting until I’m ready.” Timmy mumbled, face planted on his shoulder. “It - I had  _ no _ idea it would feel like this. Oh God, I’m a mess.” 

Armie chuckled, kissing Timmy’s forehead then his lips. “You needed to be ready for it to feel like this.” He cupped his face, his own heart aching even more with how visibly happy Timmy looked. “You’re my life, angel. Of course I would wait for you.” 

Timmy surged up to kiss him again. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” Armie answered. Eleven years together and married for ten, and it was the one thing that never lost its meaning. 

*******

“I’m going to throw up.” Timmy says as they change diapers in the middle of the night. 

Armie laughs, shaking his head with how overdramatic Timmy still is after all these years. “Come on, it’s not the first time. Hand me those, I’ll get rid of them.” 

Timmy takes the soiled diapers and passes it to Armie’s waiting hand. He wipes them clean and slips the twins into fresh ones, thankfully both of them in good mood so no one’s wailing at the top of their lungs. “We haven’t had sex, Armie. If they cry tonight I’ll join them.” 

It was true. In the first few months, their sex life was so grim. They couldn’t get one round uninterrupted, and the best they could do was quickies that just made them want to pounce at each other even more. Timmy was so keyed up about their sex life that he tried to map out the twins’ eating and sleeping schedule. Armie sometimes would pick Timmy off the floor and sling him over his shoulder the moment the twins fall asleep, bolting right into their bedroom to fuck. It was so comical if only their dicks weren’t perpetually aching in their pants. 

It got better eventually. They learned to adjust to not always having their way with each other any time they want. It was  _ expected _ during the pregnancy, but they don’t really realize just how much change it was going to be until it was there. At the same time, the sheer happiness from taking care of their children, to have them in their arms while they giggle, to see their growth and realize they’re changing too fast; it puts them to tears. 

Michael, for all his insistence for them to have children, didn’t show up to their house until the third month. He’s seen the twins a week after they were born, but after that he hasn’t really been hanging around. Not that Armie and Timmy looked forward to having him in their home. 

“Aloïs and Olivia, is that right?” Michael stood over their cribs, and both Timmy and Armie visibly flinched in an attempt to hide their full-body shock when the twins took one look at Michael and started giggling and reaching for him. “Well?” He turned to them, brow raised. 

“Yes,” Armie answered, wide-eyed as his father picked up Olivia and she blabbered at him, her hand opening and closing as she pats her fingers across Michael’s face. 

Putting Olivia down, Michael reached into Aloïs’ crib and allowed him to play with his fingers. “Alright,” 

Timmy was tugging Armie lightly, not knowing what to do. Armie was just as disoriented. 

“I’ll write them into my will.” That was the most recognition the twins would get from Michael. “If you’re thinking of more, do so.” He left shortly after that, not really looking forward to helping around with taking care of the infants. 

Timmy and Armie were running around a few minutes later, the twins erupting in another fit of crying. 

“He wants us to have more of these? Armand, I swear to God, your  _ father! _ ” Timmy was wiping at his shirt angrily, Aloïs still wailing on the table after peeing on his father. 

Armie was between crying and laughing. “Olivia’s done, I’ll get this. You should go change.” 

Timmy opened his arms to Armie, asking for a hug with his peed on shirt. “I need love, too.” 

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation when Armie pulled Timmy in an embrace, keeping on arm extended to keep Aloïs from rolling over. “Come back so we can put them to sleep. We’ll shower together.” 

“Oh good. I want to suck your dick.” 

“We talk about sex so much. I’m sort of worried that it might be their first words.” 

*******

The twins’ first words were ‘dada’ which is what Armie considers to be his biggest achievement to date. Timmy will forever be salty about it, but he supposes it’s expected. Between the two of them, Armie is the one who has more control with his work. With this, he made sure that he spent the bare minimum at the company building, only leaving their home for meetings and conferences. Timmy, on the other hand, had been out more often. He’s part-time instructor at Juilliard, also handling productions and exhibits or charities here and there. What it meant for them was that Armie handled the children for the day, and then when Timmy came home by later afternoon to evening, he would take over so Armie could sort out his work. 

It worked out, but it hadn’t been easy. It took so much work and understanding for them to not come for each other’s throats when things get hectic. Timmy had been easier to break down with the amount of demands, while Armie could disappear in his study for hours on end to cram the work he missed. A decade of marriage could hardly help to prepare them for the increased challenge of having kids into the mix. It wasn’t just Armie and Timmy, but the kids, too. That’s a weight on their shoulders, an added pressure to do better every time. They hadn’t been perfect, but they still gave it their all. 

Their marriage has seen some downtime just as it has peaked. What mattered was that every time, their knee jerk reaction was to fix everything. It had been over a decade, and they still haven’t changed their mind on who they’re spending the rest of their lives with. Their hundred percent hadn’t always looked the same, some days Armie gave more, other it was Timmy. Love, marriage and commitment won’t always look the same for everyone. The formula to making it all work won’t be the same, just as how the factors that dissolve it won’t be the same, either. 

Should anyone ask, Timmy would say that Armie carries the brunt of their relationship. It’s him who gives, wholly and unconditionally, that it makes things go easier, makes their tasks lighter. Anything that he could solve with things at his disposal, he doesn’t think twice on doing. 

Armie, on the other hand, is of the opinion that it’s Timmy’s restlessness. He’s always on his feet to get things done, without ever keeping scores of anything. He would do things for Armie and Olivia and Aloïs on top of the things he needs to get done for himself and he’ll finish it all wordlessly. Their home remains as such because of him. 

Everyone has a very simple answer to them. Because it was Armie, and because it was Timmy. Had it been any other with either of them would be way different. It works because it was them, together. 

**On their fifteenth wedding anniversary,** Olivia and Aloïs are finally old enough to enjoy their Greece beach house. They ate dirt and fell over when the waves hit them, just like any other kid their age. Armie and Timmy are watching over them, keeping enough distance that they can explore and learn things on their own, but close enough that they can come to their side if anything happens. 

Aloïs is still more reserved between them, strangely so much like Marc. He’s more soft spoken and gentle, though his tantrums are quite legendary. Olivia is still so carefree, which Timmy says is similar to Armie. She plays around with much energy and curiously picks on anything within reach. It only takes one glimpse away for her to fall over or slip or hurt herself, so often that Timmy and Armie took lessons on first aid just in case. 

Armie uprooted their lives to move to France for the time being for the kids’ education; the same one that Timmy had growing up. It resulted in him having to step back from the company, yet it didn’t even faze him a bit. They’ve made a deal to return when the kids are nine, but the more they stay in Paris the clearer it becomes that they will not be settling back down in New York. They fly quite often, either to the U.S or France or Italy or Greece. It became their life, and it was an adventure through and through. 

Olivia and Aloïs appear to be quite intelligent. They already spoke three languages, English, French and Italian, though with very little awareness of which words belong to what. They’re also very inclined to arts and music, much to Armie and Timmy’s delight. They indulged their interests and hobbies, encouraging them to hone their skills while they still want to. When Aloïs showed to be promising in math, Timmy sighed in relief so loud that Armie guffawed when he heard it. 

“ _ Aloïs, don’t stray further. Come back to Olivia’s side. _ ” Timmy commands in French, watching closely and only relaxing by Armie’s side when Aloïs complied. 

One of the ways they bonded was when Armie learned French just as the twins were learning to speak. No matter how much Armie downplays himself, he’s actually really smart, and picked up the language rather quickly. 

“Should we go back in, have some snacks?” Timmy asks as they snuggle by the shore, the waves crashing on their backs. 

Armie looks at him then to the kids. “Let’s see.  _ Olivia, Aloïs, how about some snacks? _ ” 

Olivia is already protesting, digging her hand into the sand and coming up with a shell. “No, daddy!” 

“ _ Yes, can I have berries, papa? _ ” Aloïs is already walking towards them. 

Timmy reaches forward until he catches him in his arms. “ _ Of course, you can. Olivia, are you sure? We also have tarts. _ ” 

Pouting, Olivia glares at them but begrudgingly trudges to Armie’s side. “ _ I want to swim again. _ ” 

“ _ We’ll come back. But first, food. _ ” Armie kissed her on the forehead, picking her up. 

They carried the kids back to the villa, wrapping them in a towel before setting them down to run around again. Timmy looks at him meaningfully, shaking his head as Olivia already begins riling Aloïs up. Armie waits until it looks safe to leave them to their play-fighting before helping Timmy to set their picnic table. 

“Tired?” Armie asks, his eyes trained on Timmy who’s taking the berries out. 

Timmy nods with a smile. “A bit. I’ve been up since dawn.” He rounds the table to wrap his arms around Armie’s waist. “You? How do you feel?” 

“Happy. In love.” Armie replies. 

They exchanged smiles, privately and quietly. They don’t need words more than that. They’ve already mastered the language of one another in sixteen years they had. It’s enough. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make the twins’ name as close to Oliver and Elio as I can manage. I hope that wasn’t too forced. 
> 
> I have also written this fic in a span of a month, and I’ve officially ran out of steam. However, I am shamelessly attached to this, so I am almost certain to come back to this when the ideas pop up. 
> 
> Thank you all again so much for seeing this through! Until the next. ❣️


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